


101 Nights

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Drum Corps, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - HGTV, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - War, Alternate Universe - World War II, Alternate Universe - Yoga, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternate universe - Mafia, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Angry Sex, Angst, Apologies, Aromantic Peter Hale, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bullying, Butt Plugs, Cake, Car Sex, Cock Rings, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Coming In Pants, D/s, Daddy Kink, Dark Chris Argent, Desk Sex, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Dragons, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Escort Peter Hale, Face-Fucking, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Gags, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use Of Baby Oil, Inappropriate Use of Olive Oil, Inflation, Intercrural Sex, Jail Sex, Kitchen Sex, Laser Tag, Lingerie, M/M, Marking, Massage, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Bondage, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Outdoor Sex, Pegging, Pets, Pining, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Child Abuse, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Serial Killer Peter Hale, Sex Toys, Sex and Chocolate, Shower Sex, Somnophilia, Spanking, Spitroasting, Stair Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage - Freeform, Underage Sex, Unrequited Love, Warning: Gerard Argent, Whipping, Young Chris Argent, Young Peter Hale, implied BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 64
Words: 73,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>101 Petopher AUs</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. College

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'we both got kicked out of our rooms because our roommates are having sex so now we're standing in the hallway avoiding each other' AU

Peter glances up as he hears the faintest of sighs down the hallway. He's just been contemplating the tie around the doorknob of his dorm room for the last three or so minutes. Apparently, it's the night for that sort of things, because the guy hooks his finger in the rubber band on his door, lifts its a bit, and then sighs again.

Peter sees the guy lifting his head, so he hurriedly goes back to looking at the tie. It's monumentally ugly. _Whoever put those four colors together ought to be shot_ , Peter thinks, and then glances out of the corner of his eye at the guy down the hall. He's looking out the window at the far end, so Peter takes his moment to look full on, eyes sweeping along the guy's backside, which is well worth the look as it happens.

He starts to turn around, and it's Peter's turn to sigh as he looks back at the stupid, hateful tie. Setting his jaw, and avoiding looking to see if the guy down the hall is looking back, Peter hefts his bookbag and wanders down to the lounge at the end of the hall. He's really got nowhere else to go.

Fortunately, it's empty, and so Peter grabs the cleanest chair and table combo that he can find, pulls out a textbook and starts reading.

Well, pretending to read. He's actually starting at the page and absolutely _not_ listening to see if that guy's going to follow him in. And so he startles when there's the scrape of a chair _right behind him_. And drops his book onto the floor.

“Sorry,” the guy says softly, “didn't mean to scare you.”

Peter wants to hear that voice saying his name.

“Just didn't hear you come in,” he says, picking his book up, and then lifting his eyes to the guy's face, getting lost in a pair of pale blue eyes. _Like the sky over a snow-capped mountain_ , Peter thinks.

“What is?” The guys says, furrowing a brow in confusion.

He said that out loud.

“Uh, nothing,” Peter says smoothly, and buries his nose in his textbook for the next ten minutes. He feels like the other guy's eyes are boring two holes into the back of his head and there's an itch between of his shoulder blades. He casually turns the page, acts like he finished reading whatever that was, and then casually glances up as he sets the book aside.

The guy has his eyes closed, looks like he's sleeping.

Peter sighs at himself and goes back to studying, this time for real.

“You want some pizza?” A half hour later, that voice comes out of nowhere, startling Peter again. He'd actually almost forgotten about the other guy. Peter looks up, half shrugs. “My wallet's in my room.”

“Fuck,” the guy mutters, “mine too.”

Peter waits to see if he's going to say anything else, but those eyes just look at him. “I am _not_ going in there to get it,” Peter says at last. “They both screamed the last time that happened.” His haughty sniff is disdainful. “As if I'd fuck either one of their vanilla asses.”

Something sparks in those eyes, now they're like blue flames as the guy rises fluidly and stalks over to Peter, hops up on the table next to him, and then looks down at the younger man.

“Prefer something a little more adventurous, do you?” There's a pause as if the guy's weighing his words. “How about blowing someone in a public lounge?”

Peter's cock twitches at the though, but he thinks he maintains a decent poker face. “You can blow me if you want,” he offers, chin lifted in challenge, “but I'm still not buying you pizza.”

The guy throws his head back and laughs, apparently delighted with Peter's sass. Peter wants to bite his neck, wants to mark it up and claim and – fuck, _he doesn't even know the guy's name yet_.

“Look,” Peter says, leaning forward and licking his lips, watching the older guy track the movement. “I'm bored and you're hot, but there's no way I'm doing anything in this disgusting, filthy room with someone I don't even know.”

The guy leans back, pressing his palms on the table, which pulls his shirt tight against a pretty nice chest. He spreads his thighs so that the fact that he's already half-hard is even more obvious.

“Chris.”

Peter tears his gaze away from the guy's dick and blinks up at him. “What?”

“My name's Chris. Now we know each other.” He lifts a hand and tugs his zipper down, and Peter can see that the guy is going commando.

But Peter Hale isn't that easy, although for this guy, he'd like to be. He finds the cool arrogance of the guy appealing for some reason. Still, he pushes back his chair and crosses his arms, and attempts to stare the guy – Chris – down.

But Chris just shoves Peter's books onto the floor, scoots himself over so that he's directly in front of the younger man, and pulls his cock out, starts sliding his hand along himself slowly.

Peter's mesmerized by the motion, but it's not until he unconsciously licks his lips that Chris starts talking to him.

“You're not fooling me, kid. I can see how much you want it. Just come here and lets see what that pretty mouth can do. C'mon, baby, show me what you can do.”

Peter's achingly hard already, and he can't take his eyes off Chris, but he manages to keep a bored tone to his voice when he answers.

“Fine, whatever, but you're buying me dinner after.”

Chris doesn't say anything, just lets go of his length, leans back again, and Peter moves his chair back closer, settles his hands on Chris' thighs and slides his mouth around Chris' cock in one smooth, practiced movement.

And obviously, Chris had thought he was getting a blushing virgin here, because he definitely seems surprised when Peter relaxes his throat and leans in to take Chris' cock into it, and then the older guy doesn't think anything, because Peter uses his mouth to take the guy apart. He puts his all into it, uses every trick he knows to rock this guy's world. And when he's done, pulling back and licking his lips smugly after swallowing Chris' load, Peter lifts his chin and arches a brow at the shaking man laid back gasping on the table.

“Don't forget my pizza.” Then he grabs his bag and his books, and Peter Hale sweeps from the room, deliberately not looking back to see if Chris is watching.

But he is.

 


	2. Pets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'My pet really hates your pet’ AU

Chris is woken up by frantic yipping coming from the living room. He whistles softly, and a tiny little ball of white fluffy curls zips onto the bed, manages to steps on his balls in the process, and then perches on his stomach, turning his head toward the living room and continuing his yapping.

“I know, Fluffy, I know.” He reaches a hand up and rubs the dog's head, sighing a bit. “It's that asshole cat again. I told you to ignore him and he'll go away. He just likes to get you riled up.”

Fluffy – not the dog's real name – snuffles and rubs into Chris' hand, turns around twice on the man's bare stomach, and it's definitely time to get those claws taken care of, and promptly falls asleep.

Chris is now wide awake.

After about twenty minutes of arguing with his body, he gives it up, scoops the dog up and sets him to the side. Fluffy is actually Allison's dog, but she couldn't take him to university with her, so here they were, two grouchy old males living together.

“Morning, Asshole,” Chris greets the cat, smugly licking its fur on the fire escape right outside Fluffy's napping window.

Chris scratches his bare stomach, absently flicks off the cat, who lifts it's head and just _looks_ at him in a way that makes him wonder if serial killer cats are a thing, then lifts itself with total dignity and pads lightly off.

Apparently to perch on the ledge of the bedroom window, if the sudden renewed barking is any clue.

“I am going to dig out my dad's old hunting rifle and shoot that cat in the face,” Chris mutters to himself as he starts the coffee machine.

He ends up having to pull all the curtains before the dog will stop, bemoaning his lack of morning sunlight, and does a series of push-ups, then sit-ups, while the coffee is brewing.

Chris has just poured himself a cup, when there's a firm knock on the door. He wanders over and pulls the door open, arching a brow at the guy on the other side.

“Can I help you?”

The guy takes in the pajama pants slung around his hips, and the sweaty torso, before lifting his gaze up to Chris' face. “You've got to do something about your dog,” he says, not even bothering to introduce himself.

Chris sighs and nods. “Yeah, he's never been like this before, but there's this asshole cat who sits right outside the window and taunts the poor old guy.”

Fluffy comes trotting in the room, tongue lolling happily and he wanders up to the two men, and then he bares his teeth, growls, and starts barking at the man.

Chris scoops him up and stares at the dog. “Who, calm down, Fluff, what's he matter, guy?” He soothes the dog, then looks up at the silent neighbor. “Sorry, man, it's so weird, he's never reacted to anyone like that before.”

The guy gives himself a tiny shake and then his lips curve into a smirk that Chris wants to kiss – no slap – right off his face.

“That asshole cat would be my Evangeline, I'm guessing. Purebred Persian? Looks at you like she's plotting your murder?”

Chris nods once, both brows arched. “Evangeline?”

The neighbor snorts. “Fluffy?”

“Well, that's not his real name. It's something fancy only my daughter can remember. She left him behind when she went to college.” And _why_ is Chris telling the neighbor this again?

“Evangeline was Talia – my sister – 's cat before she passed away. I'm Peter.” He sticks out his hand abruptly

“I'm sorry,” Chris says uncomfortably, as he shakes the proffered hand and introduces himself, to which Peter shrugs.

“Years ago.”

Chris nods, and then there's an awkward silence which is broken by the sudden squirming of the dog, who races off to the bedroom when released, and starts yipping again. Chris sighs.

“Come on in,” he says, leaving the door open as he tracks down the dog – who's managed to tear down the curtain to press his face up against the glass where Evangeline is scratching at it from the other side.

“Yeah, that's her,” Peter grumbles from right behind him, and Chris has a sudden mild panic at someone being in his bedroom after this long alone. “I don't know how she keeps getting out.”

And then they watch her lift her paw and slide it along the glass where the lever to open the window is on the other side.

Chris huffs a sudden laugh. “Looks like you got your hands full there.” He turns to looks at Peter leaning against his doorway, arms crossed. His mouth is suddenly dry as really looks at Peter's body.

Peter tilts his head. “We should talk it over. Over coffee.”

Chris is taken aback a moment, and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Or..” Peter takes a step forward, eyes darting to the bed. “We could stay in?”

Chris swallows hard, then looks over the other man's body as his dick gets the message and starts lifting the crotch of his pajama pants. “Uh, yeah, we could do that too.”

Peter saunters forward, all arrogance and surety in his charm, and Chris feels a surge of dark desire, a kind he's never felt before, but he wants to _wreck_ this guy all of a sudden. Something of his thoughts must flash in his face, because Peter hesitates, suddenly uncertain, and it's Chris who closes the gap, now that he's made up his mind that he's going to do this.

He strides right up to Peter, wraps his hand around the back of the shorter man's neck, and hauls him in for a filthy, demanding kiss, then pulls back and shoves him onto the bed.

Fluffy gets exiled to the living room, and then Chris pins Peter to his bed, wraps both the other man's wrists in his hand above Peter's head after Chris tears his shirt off, and lets the other slide down to tug open the zip on Peter's jeans.

Chris tugs the waistband of his pajama pants down until he can curl his hand around them both, and then grinds himself down, fucking his dick along Peter's.

He leans in, licks his way into Peter's mouth once more, sliding his tongue along the other man's, tasting and claiming.

Peter's thighs are pinned by Chris', and he can't get any purchase to arch his hips, to thrust into the grasping hand, just has to lay there and take what Chris gives him at the incredibly slow, frustrating speed. It's not until he's actively whining into Chris' mouth, that the taller man takes pity on him, and moves his hand faster, squeezing a bit tighter until Peter's shuddering beneath, come spilling out over Chris' cock and his hand, and then it's his turn to bite back noises as he fucks into his own fist against Peter's softening cock.

Chris lets the other man's dick slide from his grasp, and kneels up a bit, jacking himself harshly until he's panting with his release, the hot splashes of it directed at Peter's magnificent chest. Chris rubs it in before he lets Peter up, flopping to the side.

Peter takes a deep, shaky breath, and then huffs a laugh. “Good discussion.”


	3. Craigslist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'I hired you off craigslist to be my date for a wedding' AU

“Kate, I am _not_ bringing a date.” Chris leans his head back against the wall, heaves a sigh. “I'm not even _seeing_ anyone.”

“If you don't bring someone, I have it on good authority that Aunt Araya has someone she wants to set you up with, a good hunter from an impeccable family.”

Chris groans. “I don't even _know_ anyone here.”

“You've been at college for six years and there's not _one_ person you can bring as a date?” Kate sounds skeptical.

Chris thinks about any of his friends coming home to meet his family and then shrugs helplessly. “Nope.”

“Well, just hire someone on that new Craigslist thing and make up a story about meeting in a coffeeshop or something. Or take your chances with good breeding stock.”

Chris hangs up on Kate and runs his hand through his hair, and then shrugs and goes over to his dusty computer, and clears the junk from around it. It takes him a few minutes to remember where the on button is, and how to get it to connect with the world wide web. Chris hums along with the noise that the dial-up box makes, and then he clicks on the Netscape Navigator button and carefully types the address into the bar. He's actually been on this website before a couple of times, though he'd never been brave enough to answer any of the advertisements for hookups.

The website is kind of confusing – it's just a list of words – so he takes the time to read through them all. Chris clicks on one of them, going to get a soda while it loads up. The last few things are loading when he gets back, and he waits patiently until it's all done, then uses the down arrow to scroll through the page, reading probably about thirty before he comes to one that seems like what he's looking for. He grabs his scrap paper and writes down the ad's information so he doesn't forget it, then reads through the rest of them. It's dark by the time he's done, and all he's found is the one.

Chris mentally crosses his fingers that this guy isn't a serial killer and types in his reply. He waits a few minutes until the page reloads, and he hopes it sent and that he didn't sound too much like an idiot.

-

Two days later, Chris finds a reply in his inbox, and they set up a meeting. The guy's name is Peter, and he insists on meeting in a public place, and that Chris brings clean test results. He was going to ask for the same thing, so he feels a bit better about the situation, and makes an appointment right away.

Chris goes to one of those anonymous clinics, because the Hunter doctor his family goes to would go right to his father. It's two weeks before his results come back, clean obviously, because Chris has had maybe three lovers in five years, and only one has gotten to the point where there was any sort of penetration, and they used protection.

So he gets back on his computer and replies to Peter, sets up a meet in Golden Gate Park.

-

Chris is early, scopes the area until he realizes what he's doing, sets his jaw at yet another reminder that he can't get away from his father, ever. He settles on the bench and waits.

“Chris?”

The young hunter looks up, nodding, then tilts his head. “Peter?”

The guy echoes his nod and settles himself down on the bench next to Chris, pulls a folded piece of paper of his pocket, and hands it over. “First things first.”

Chris pulls out his own and trades, scans the negatives and nods. “All clean then.”

Peter turns and rests his arm on the back of the bench. “Okay, now, let's talk money, and then story.”

-

“Third date?” Araya Calavera looks Peter up and down, eyes narrowing. “Where did you meet?”

“The coffeeshop right by my apartment,” Peter lies smoothly. “We had to share a table.”

“I'm going to borrow your date a moment, Peter,” she says, and tugs Chris away. He looks back, and sees a glint of amusement in those cerulean eyes. Peter seems to be having the time of his life. Which strikes Chris as odd, but he's distracted from the thought by his Aunt.

“Christophe, I'd like you to meet Victoria Campbell.”

-

“He's good,” Kate says into Chris' ear after he extricates himself from Araya. He looks down at his sister with an arched brow. “You'd never know that he's a paid escort.”

Chris looks up to see Peter twirling one of the old ladies around the floor, and nods thoughtfully.

“He's also hot,” she says, “if a bit old.”

Chris rolls his eyes and leaves his sister behind, steps up when the song ends and tugs Peter away from his dancing partner. “You're amazing,” he says, looking slightly down at Peter, “I'm impressed.”

“Your family's a lot more...laid back...than mine,” Peter replies, and Chris furrows a brow, thinking of the military training they all go through.

“Hm, I'm not sure I follow.”

Peter arches a brow and tilts his head. “When my sister found me kissing a boy, she threw me out.”

_Oh._

“Yeah, that's not really my family's style,” Chris shrugs. _No one ever leaves,_ he thinks, _like the mafia_.

-

He calls Peter three days after the wedding. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

“You're drunk.”

Chris eyes the bottle next to him. “Not yet.”

Peter hangs up. Chris shrugs and lifts the bottle.

Ten minutes later, there's a knock at the door. Chris opens it to see Peter with an overnight bag.

“Why are we drinking?” he says, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig of it himself.

Chris slumps into the couch. “I've been cleared for graduation.”

“So why doesn't this feel like a celebration?” He nestles right up into Chris' side and hands the bottle back. Chris lays his arm over Peter's shoulder automatically.

“After that, I have to go back home and join the family business.” He takes another drink.

“Enough said,” Peter nods, and they share the bottle in silence until it's gone.

Chris suddenly stands up, a bit wobbly, but he manages, and offers the other man a hand. “C'mon.”

Peter arches a brow, but puts his hand in the other's. “Where are we going?”

“To the bedroom. I'm going to fuck you until neither of us can remember our names.”

 


	4. War Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a photojournalist and a red cross worker in a conflict zone au

“Down!” Peter hits the dirt, then uses his supernatural reflexes to duck behind what's left of the stone wall behind him, lifting his camera up and snapping three quick shots before pulling it down the flick through the images. He sees the enemy militia streaming from a gap in the hills on the horizon, the leading wave shooting at the red cross compound with rocket launchers. The unit that he's embedded with is rapidly forming up and finding cover, trying to protect the aid workers who have only just begun setting up tents.

“They're not supposed to be here, dammit,” the soldier to Peter' left yells in frustration as he sees a body crushed under rubble at the same time as Peter does. He waits until the guy looks away before lifting his camera and taking the picture.

When he'd defied Talia, left the Pack, and went into Photography five years ago, this is not where he'd thought he'd end up.

Peter ducks as another shell hits, this one closer, and then he drops back to get some shots of the aid workers. One in particular catches his eye, he looks more like a soldier than the others, and there's a sadness in his eyes that Peter feels the itch to capture. He takes a lot of pictures.

Peter's taken a step back, kneels down and flicks through them, pulls one in particular up, one that shows the strong line of the guy's jaw and neck, and highlights the blue of his eyes.

“ _Really_?”

Peter refrains from startling, just cranes his neck to look up. Naturally, it's the guy.

“All of the shit going on, and you're wasting your time taking pictures of me.”

Peter narrows his eyes and lifts his chin. “I don't consider it a waste. Also, I've taken _plenty_ of pictures of everything else. Judgy much?”

He blinks and then tilts his head. “I meant that I'm not nearly important enough to warrant it.”

Peter snorts and rises, looks up a couple inches. “You're taking care of the injured and you're gorgeous.”

The guy snorts in derision and then looks across to the beds. “I owe a debt,” he says softly and walks away.

Peter watches him go...and he may or may not have taken a few shots of that ass.

-

Over the next few days, the guy – Chris, he finds out after asking around – ignores him more thoroughly than anyone has ever ignored him in his life.

Peter keeps taking pictures of him.

Right until something snaps in the guy and he stalks over and rips it right out of Peter's hand. Or at least tries to. Peter's stronger than he looks, with a firm grasp. He ends up pinned to the wall of a building as Chris growls out some threat or the other, but all Peter's thinking about is that Chris' perfect body is pressed up against his, and he cannot help the physical reaction. He can tell the second that Chris becomes aware of it, he goes very still, and turns to look directly down into Peter's eyes.

The moment stretches into infinity, tension rising, and then it snaps as Chris mashes his mouth down onto Peter's, the camera falling to the wayside as their hands become otherwise occupied.

Peter ends up on his knees for Chris, the building at his back as he swallows the taller man's cock down, sliding his tongue along the vein underneath as he slides one hand up underneath Chris' shirt, the other cupping the aid worker's ass.

Chris rests his palm on the wall behind Peter, the other curling around the back of the photographer's neck as he thrusts into the wet heat, brief thoughts of this being wrong chased away by Peter's mouth. Peter scratches a nail across Chris' nipple as he hollows out his cheeks and relaxes his throat, and then with a shout muffled by biting his fist, Chris is coming, pumping his seed into the waiting mouth. Peter swallows every drop, suckling until Chris pulls himself away, then licking his lips smugly as he looks up.

Chris takes a few deep breath, eyes wide as the fog clears and he realizes what they've just done – what _he's_ just done – and he stammers an apology as he tucks himself away, and then turns and hustles away before Peter can form an argument.

Peter picks up his camera after watching Chris walk away from him again. “I'm beginning to get a complex,” he says to it, then muses, still staring after where Chris has disappeared. “Time for plan B.”

-

Peter breaks into the red cross building that night, if by breaking in you meant walking right past Jack the security guard with a fist bump. He's known where Chris sleeps for days now.

Peter makes it a point to know things.

He does have to pick the lock on Chris' room door, but it's an ancient lock, and takes him only a few seconds. Peter shuts and locks the door behind him, and then flicks on the light as he leans his back against the door.

“What the fuck?” growls Chris, and then his eyes fly wide open as he sees Peter in his room. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to finish what we started earlier.” Peter tilts his head as Chris looks away, and there's definitely guilt on his face.

“Look, I'm sorry, that got out of hand, but we can't do that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm here to pay penance, to make up for the things I've done, I can't let myself...” Chris trails off as he searches for the words.

“Former military,” Peter guesses, “Just old enough to have been in Serbia?”

Chris snorts. “I was never in the military.”

Peter shrugs. “You carry yourself like it.”

“My father's influence. He was in Vietnam.”

“so, not a soldier feeling bad about war crimes,” Peter says as he tugs his shirt off. “Unless you're a serial killer, I can't think of any reason you need to deny yourself while you're over here.”

“What are you _doing_?”

Peter unzips his jeans and then he's standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers.

“I'm crawling into bed with you. We can fuck or not, but I'm not giving up the opportunity for human comfort.”

Chris doesn't stop him, eventually curls into him, because Peter is a furnace, and the nights get real cold over here. It's not until Chris pulls an old blanket over them both that the scent of wolfsbane catches Peter's attention, and his eyes fly wide open.

And glow supernatural blue. “ _Hunter_. You _are_ a serial killer.”

Chris is frozen, staring at the eyes, and then he lays his head back on the pillow and throws his arm across his eyes. “Of course. I should have known that the first person in my bed since I lost my wife would be a fucking werewolf.”

The glow in Peter's eyes gradually fades out, and the claws retract as his control reasserts itself. “So, you're saving lives to make up for what? The lifetime you spent slaughtering my kind?”

“That about covers it,” Chris says, voice muffled by his arm.

The silence stretches out until Peter huffs and pulls Chris back into his arms, after throwing the blanket to the floor, of course.

“In that case, you can start by making it up to me.” Peter moves his lips next to Chris' ear. “And I have so _many_ ideas.”

 


	5. Mechanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Car broke down and hot local fixes it AU

“Of course,” Peter snarls, aiming a kick at the tire that does nothing but scratch up his [thousand dollar leather boots](http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER<>folder_id=2534374306420996&PRODUCT<>prd_id=845524446741502&R=8050442652628&P_name=Dolce+&+Gabbana&N=306420996&bmUID=kCipPu1). He tries the call again, breathing a sigh of relief as this time it goes through.

“Talia, I'm not going to make the meeting.” He listens for a minute. “Yes, I know, but the files are in the drop share, so you've got everything you need. The freeway was closed because of an accident and I took a detour with a rental, and apparently, the rental service is only open 9 to 5. I'll let you know when I have the situation handled.”

Several more calls and Peter has a room at a local bed and breakfast, and a tow truck on the way. He takes off his suit coat, unbuttons and rolls up his sleeve, and spends the next two hours making notes in the margin of his notes for his sister. Talia isn't as smooth as he is in the courtroom, but she should do for this case, the lawyer they're up against is small time and not really very bright.

Peter's pacing the road, gesturing and talking out loud to himself when he hears the noise of a motorcycle. He pauses to look up, to step out from the road and in front of his car so that the guy can go past, but instead he stops, pulls the bike right up next to Peter's disaster of a rental and takes off his helmet.

The eyes are the first thing Peter notices, intense like icewater to the face, and he finds he has to take a deep breath before his composure reasserts himself, and he puts on his courtroom smile. “Hey there.”

“Tow got borrowed by the Sheriff,” the guy says, “won't be available til the morning at the earliest.”

Peter sighs and turns to regard the useless vehicle. “That figures.”

“'m here to take you into town.”

Peter turns and arches a brow at the guy...and his mode of transportation.

“On that?”

The guy smirks and hits the kick stand, climbs off and saunters towards Peter. The lawyer is irritated to notice he's got to look up at him.

“You got a better offer?”

Peter looks at the car, weighs trying to sleep in it versus risking his life on that death trap of a machine. “I doubt my luggage will fit.”

A backpack lands at his feet. “Grab what you need for the night, you can get the rest in the morning.”

Peter eyes the bag doubtfully and pops open the trunk to reveal two suitcases, two briefcases, his laptop bag, a garment bag, and his carry-on. After several minutes, and he's pretty sure the guy is laughing at him, Peter manages to fit the laptop and most of his toiletries, along with the bottoms to a pair of pajamas, and one of his less expensive business casual outfits into the bookbag.

He carefully puts his suitcoat away in the garment bag, switches to a pair of loafers and gently cleans the boots before he tucks them in their case. Peter slides the backpack on and gingerly climbs behind the guy who's been silently watching this entire time.

“Thanks, uh – Don't think I caught your name.”

“Argent. Chris. I'm the mechanic'll fix 'at up for ya tomorrow.”

Peter does his best to be nonchalant about wrapping his arms around the taller man as he revved the engine and set them on the road to town.

-

“There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

Peter is ashen as he finally – and gratefully – climbs off the evil contraption, but he manages a credible smile. “Ah, no, course not. Thanks for the ride.”

Chris sticks out his hand for a shake and Peter automatically slides his hand into the mechanic's. They're bigger than his, and he can feel the roughness of the callouses, and looks down to see the strength in Chris' arms. Which gives rise to a host of inappropriate thoughts, and so he gracefully extricates himself and takes his one, tiny bag in to check in.

The bed and breakfast is a balm to his harried soul, the woman is brisk and efficient, gets him into his room with extra scented soaps and a light tray of snacks and then excuses herself after telling him when breakfast is. The room is beautifully decorated in shabby chic, not his particular style, but he can certainly tell that thought and taste have been put into it. Peter makes a note to tell Ms. Martin so in the morning.

For now, he snacks briefly, and then soaks his cares away in a long bubble bath before turning to his laptop and uploading those notes for his sister.

A chill wind drifts through the open window, and he wanders over to close it, and then notices Argent's garage across the street. The guy's still at work it seems, the shop is brightly lit, and Peter can see booted feet under a car, and just barely hear the faint tones of what sounds like some CCR. And then Chris pushes himself out from underneath the car, and Peter drops the water bottle he'd been carrying.

The mechanic's shirt is off, tucked into his back pocket, and the torso that extends from that ripped and smudged pair of jeans is absolutely _perfect_.

Peter wants to do very bad things to it. And the rest of him.

He only realizes he's staring when Chris turns and looks right at him. A jolt of electricity runs through him, and he fights the urge to duck behind the curtains and pretend that he wasn't staring. The mechanic swaggers across the street, and Peter spends those few seconds coming up with eight different things that he could say to the impending accusation, so when Chris grins up and asks if he's got any liquor up there, Peter is confused.

“No?”

“What's your poison?”

Peter really wishes Chris would put his shirt on. “Scotch?”

He also wishes he could stop answering in questions.

Chris nods and walks off down the street and Peter blinks after him, then picks up his water bottle and sets it on the bedside table, and reminds himself that he's a wildly successful lawyer, who charms people for a living.

He's still not prepared when Chris shows up at his door, still shirtless, with an unopened bottle of whiskey. “Best I could do,” he says with a shrug and hands it to Peter. He stands there a moment, then steps back and looks around for cups.

They end up doing shots out of dixie cups, Peter watching Chris settle into the one chair in the room as he perches on the end of the bed, lifting his paper cup into the air. “Cheers.”

“Whatcha do for a living?” Chris pours them both a second drink, and Peter leans forward to grab his, just realizing that he's only got the bottoms to his silk pajama set on, and feeling suddenly very exposed as he gulps it down.

“Lawyer. Corporate.”

“Figured it was something like that from the fancy clothes. How'd you end up way out here?”

“Traffic jam, the devil's own luck, and faulty GPS,” Peter grumbles, tossing down another with a sigh – was that his third or his fourth?

Chris tosses back his next drink, and then pushes himself up from his chair and walks over to stand in front of Peter, reaches out and slowly pushes him back onto the bed. Peter blinks a bit, then gets with the program as Chris tugs the pajama pants down and off, before wrapping one large hand around Peter's cock.

“Oh!” the lawyer gasps inarticulately, arching up into the grip, hands fisting the bedcovers.

Chris makes a soft noise of approval, then steps back slightly to unfasten his jeans and tug them down before pulling a small bottle and a handful of condoms onto the bed beside Peter.

He kneels on the bed between Peter's thighs, then squirts some lube on his hands. One slick hand wraps around both their dicks together, the other reaches down and teases around the rim of Peter's entrance.

“I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you're gonna feel it long after you get back to the big city,” Chris says, twisting his finger inside Peter as he fucks through his fist.

The lawyer doesn't respond just arches up into the contact, one hand sliding along Chris' thigh, the other still tight in the blankets. He doesn't say much of anything until the prep has gone on too long, and he suddenly snaps out a demand. “Enough, just _fuck_ me already.”

Chris laughs, soft and low and then wipes his hand on the blanket as he reaches for the foil packets. “I was wondering when you'd get mouthy. Expected more of that from a lawyer type.”

“I'm having an off day,” Peter mutters, and then bites back a moan as Chris slides partway into him, tossing his head back. Chris smirks and then pushes further in, slowly but surely, until he's seated all the way inside Peter, then reaches up and grabs a fistful of Peter's hair.

Chris yanks the lawyer's head to the side and attacks his neck as he starts fucking into him, hard and fast, and Peter curls one hand around Chris' back, raking nails across the skin, while the other cups Chris' muscular ass tightly.

The mechanic's free hand wraps around Peter once more and strips along his cock as Chris fucks into him and it's rough and fast and it's fucking perfect. Peter hits his edge almost without realizing it and barely grunts out a warning before he's pulsing in Chris' hand, spilling over the mechanic's hand. Chris fucks him right through his orgasm, hands wrapping around Peter's hips as he slams into the lawyer a handful of times before he finds his own release.

Once he's recovered, Chris gives them both a cursory clean-up, then tugs his jeans back on and pours himself another drink, tossing it back before he crushes the cup and drops it in the trash.

“See ya in the morning,” he winks and then walks out the door.

Peter blinks a long moment at the ceiling, and then goes to take another shower.

He does see Chris in the morning, steels himself with pleasantries which all fly from his head when he sees Chris again. The mechanic seemingly has no such trouble, just lets him know the car's fixed and that there'll be no charge.

“On the house,” he grins, giving Peter the once over as he hands the keys the the shorter man, and then moves onto his next customer.

 


	6. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: pen pals who vent at each other every week au

_September 13, 1943_

Dear Soldier,

 

I am a senior in high school. For our senior class project, we are writing letters to cheer you up. Which is quite possibly the most idiotic thing the Student Council could have come up with. How can you ever be cheerful with such gloom and misery hanging over you?

I am frequently miserable here, and I have a soft bed and records to listen to. Of course, you don't have my sister there, so that at least would be something to be grateful for.

Apparently, we are supposed to ask you about yourself in this letter. (My teacher has just come around and insisted that I scratch out the part about Student Council. As you can see, I was disinclined to do so.)

Therefore, who is your favorite singer? I'm partial to Mr. Sinatra, I've just heard his new song on the radio this week. Talia (that's my ~~evil~~ sister) says Mr. Crosby has “a far superior talent” and other assorted rudeness.

We have been learning about the countries which our soldiers have been going to. Russia looks very cold in the drawings from our history books. I live in California, I've never seen snow.

We're supposed to ask if there's anything we can send you. At some point there's a care package planned. I suggested we send some of the bottle of bourbon my father had collected. They're only gathering dust in the basement now. (That apparently warranted a call from my teacher to Talia.)

Do you have time for hobbies over there? What do you do in your spare time? Do you have spare time? (I believe I have complied with the requirements for this project, so I will end this missive.)

 

Sincerely,

Peter Hale

 

 

_December 20, 1943_

Dear Mr. Hale,

 

I was vastly entertained to receive your letter. It made me smile for the first time in weeks.

I am twenty-five years old, and a sergeant in the Army. We are currently somewhere in Italy, and have been for at least a month.

We do manage cheer at times, especially when we get letters from home. Italy is a beautiful country. If you get the chance, once the War is over, you ought to visit.

I have a younger sister, she's a handful of trouble that one. Is yours older? From your letter, I got the impression that she was your guardian.

She's wrong about Sinatra though, I enjoy his singing. Some of the guys have records and we all listen to them when we stop someplace that has a player.

I haven't been to Russia yet, but there are rumors that say we're headed there next. I have been to California, however, my father was briefly stationed out there.

Bourbon would have been nice, however I doubt it would last the journey. Mostly we could use books to read, and warm things like scarves and socks.

We mostly play cards and read, there's a surprising amount of downtime. One of the guys draws pictures, he's really very good. I whittle sometimes, but I broke my best knife so I had to set that aside until I'm back in the States again.

You said you're a senior, what are your plans after graduation? What are your hobbies? Extracurricular activities? Feel free to write me about anything.

 

Sincerely,

Sgt. Christopher Argent.

 

 

_January 24, 1944_

Dear Christopher,

 

I do hope it's alright to call you that, I couldn't keep a straight face at Sergeant Argent. Do the men snicker when they have to call you that?

Happy New Year. I suppose you must still be in Italy, as the news reels have been showing much activity in that area, though they won't say exactly where. It looks like you have been quite busy.

 ~~How many people have you killed?~~ My teacher says that's inappropriate, as if you're not aware that you're killing people. Isn't that what soldiers do?

It does look beautiful from the little we see of the countryside from the news. Have you been to Rome? Was the Pope there? Are you Catholic? Talia is very devout, but I stopped going when I started high school.

Your father was stationed here? So you have a family history of service. No one in my family has been to war. Although my father was in service, he never left the States. I'm not sure what he did, my mother never liked to talk about him after he passed, and Talia never mentions either of them now.

He actually had the same hobby, used to carve animals for her when she was little. I found his old whittling knife and she said I could send it to you.

I've also enclosed the things you asked for (and a special magazine tucked inside the sweater). It was also my father's. (The sweater, not the magazine. I had quite the adventure to acquire it, since I've never been to one of those places before.) I hope that's alright, it's not as if he has need of it, and I'm afraid I'll never reach his size.

I've applied to several universities, but I haven't mentioned it to Talia yet. She's insisted that I must not leave her, wants me to work at the local factory. It would be a waste of my talents, however. I'm quite brilliant, and I feel I would best be served by one of the Ivy League universities.

My hobbies are chess and Basket Ball. I'm not sure if you're familiar. It's a university sport that was introduce to our school a few years ago. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm quite good at it.

We have a school dance upcoming, and I haven't decided if I ought attend. I suppose I'll go stag with some of the guys from the team. I don't have anyone I've been seeing.

I hope you stay as safe as can be expected.

 

Sincerely,

Peter Hale

 

_March 1, 1944_

Dear Christopher,

 

I know that mail can take a long time to reach you, but I haven't heard back after the last letter. I'm hoping you are well.

I wanted to share a piece of news with you. I've been accepted to Harvard, Princeton and Yale. Now I need to decide how best to break the news to Talia.

Not much else is new over here. Talia planted a new Victory garden. I didn't go to the dance at all. I cleaned out the garage and gathered together all the scrap metal. Our school is doing a drive.

Again, I hope you are well.

 

Sincerely,

Peter Hale

 

 

_June 10, 1944_

Dear Peter,

 

Your letters and package have just caught up with me. I'm no longer in Italy. We're in France now. There was a massive battle on a beach. I'm not allowed to say any more, except that we won and are now pushing into France.

I will cherish your father's knife, it means a lot that you would share it with me.

My father was killed in the Pacific earlier this spring. We were never very close, but I do feel the burden of his expectations for me always on my shoulders.

I'm a lieutenant now after the battle. Our unit got hit with heavy fire, and our officers were decimated. I hope to do as good as job as they did.

The sweater is perfect, I wear it to sleep and it keeps me very warm.

I hope your sister's garden is growing well. I miss fresh foods. Everything seems to be from a can here.

I need to cut this short as we're moving out and I don't know when we'll be able to post next.

 

Sincerely,

Lt. Christopher Argent

 

P.S.: Congrats on university. You'll do great.

 

 

_August 1, 1944,_

Dear Christopher,

 

It's my turn to take a very long time to answer. I apologize for that. There's been a whirlwind of life altering events in my life, and I'm afraid I also have lost a family member.

I do want to offer my condolences on your father, first. I sympathize with how you must feel.

Talia did end up agreeing to let me go to school. Hence the new address at Princeton.

The first week I was away, there was a fire at the house in California.

Talia succumbed to the flames.

I am living in a boarding house near campus now.

I am glad the gifts were well received.

I'm sorry, I do not have much more to write. I have studying and essays, still trying to catch up from missing a week of classes to settle the Hale estate.

 

Sincerely,

Peter Hale

 

October 31, 1944

Dear Peter,

 

We're in Germany now. The town is called Aachen. It used to be a favorite place of Charlemagne the locals tell us. I bet you know all about that kind of stuff, learning at the university.

I'm so very sorry to hear about your sister, I know you cared for her. And she for you.

How is Princeton treating you? I'm sure you have already brought yourself up to everyone else's level, and are thriving there.

Do you like the boarding house? It must be very different than being just you and your sister.

I received a minor injury during the last battle. They got the bullet out of my leg but I'll be laid up for a while. I hope to hear from you soon.

 

Sincerely,

Lt. Christopher Argent

 

_December 23, 1944_

Dear Christopher,

 

Happy Christmas! I hope your injuries are healing nicely.

I've just come off a strenuous week of examinations and such, and I'm proud to say that I've received high marks in all. I am somewhat concerned for the next semester, as I will be under the tutelage of a professor that I've already been on the wrong side of a handful of times. I believe he feels inadequate that I'm so much cleverer than he is. Still, I will persevere, for I've decided that I intend to go into academe and teach.

I apologize for the effluence of my news but you're the closest thing I have to family now, being that we've been corresponding for many months.

Princeton is wonderful, we've been taking our excess energy out with snowball fights and toboggan races. We also went out and got ourselves photographed, I've enclosed a copy of mine.

I was sorry to hear about your leg, I imagine it's all healed up by now and you're back in the fight. Please stay safe.

 

Sincerely,

Peter Hale

 

_February 13, 1945_

Dear Peter,

 

My leg is much improved, and I have some wonderful news.

Rumors abound that we will be coming home soon. I'd like to buy you a drink to thank you for keeping my spirits up these past couple years.

I'm grateful that university has proven to be such a good place for you. That's what we're fighting for. Don't worry about that professor, I think you'll do fine.

I've been promoted again, First Lieutenant now.

We're heading further into Germany this week. They say that the war is pretty much over.

I'm enclosing a carving I've made for you. I hope to be able to have that drink with you soon.

 

Sincerely,

Lt. Christopher Argent

 

_April 4, 1945_

Dear Peter,

 

Today was an incredibly trying day. I held onto your letters and your father's knife and reminded myself that there's light to battle the darkness.

I have never seen the like as what I saw today at Ohrdruf.

Thank you for sending me your photo. It reminds me what I'm fighting for.

 

Sincerely,

Lt. Christopher Argent

 

_May 8, 1945_

Dear Christopher,

 

If you can find a way to make it to Paris, a small group of my fellow university students and I were rewarded with a trip there.

The wolf you carved me brought good luck, I expect.

We will be there the second week of June.

 

Sincerely,

Peter Hale

 

_June 7, 1945_

Dear Christopher,

 

We leave Paris in the morning. I am sorry to have missed you. The rain is coming down heavily outside the cafe as I write this, but the air is cheerful.

The people are very kind with my attempts at French. I expect you speak it better, given your extensive-

 

“Peter? Peter Hale?”

He blinks up from his letter to see an American soldier, water dripping from his sodden uniform, walking toward him, intense blue eyes drinking in the sight of him.

“Christopher?” he whispers, and then flashes a bright smile as the soldier nods once and then wraps him up in a hug.

“You made it,” Peter murmurs as they cling together and Chris nods.

“For you, I could do anything.”

 


	7. Pets, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: lost cat au
> 
> Note: Technically not its own AU, but a continuation of [Chapter 2 - Pets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/5747933).

Chris looks up from his breakfast to see someone moving around in the bushes outside his window. He arches a brow and reaches for his gun, sidling along the wall until he's next to the window, then turning quickly, gun first, cocked and aimed at...Peter Hale.

Quickly, he snaps the safety back on the weapon and tucks it away before his neighbor sees, manages a credible look of surprise as Peter looks up to see Chris peering at him through the window.

“Evangeline,” he explains, “is missing.”

Ah, so that's why Chris was able to sleep in, no wake up call from a pissed off dog trying to attack an asshole cat.

He nods once at Peter, not exactly sure what to say next. “I'm sorry?” he tries, and it comes out completely insincere. Peter just snorts and rustles the bushes a bit more.

They haven't talked since their – whatever it was – last week, at least no more than the usual “Hi, how are ya?” that neighbors usually give each other. Chris isn't sure what to say, he feels awkward about it, more off-balance than he has since he was a teenager. He would like to do it again, and again and again, but Peter's made no move that way, and it suddenly and perversely irritates him.

So when he eventually breaks the silence, his words come out with a bit more bite than he'd initially intended. “What _are_ you doing?”

Peter narrows his eyes up at Chris. “Looking for my cat, obviously.”

Chris shakes his head and arches a brow. “If she was in the bushes, you'd've found her already.”

“I suppose you've got a better idea.” Peter's voice tells Chris exactly what he thinks of that.

“Yeah, I do,” Chris snaps back and then vanishes into the depths of his apartment, only to return with Fluffy in his arms.

“You have got to be kidding,” Peter sneers.

“Nobody wants to chase that cat more than this dog.” Chris attaches Fluffy's leash and heads back into the apartment, going out the front door and coming around to where Peter's still standing in the bushes.

“You do realize that Fluffy is not a bloodhound.”

Chris ignores him, just lets Fluffy lead the way down the alley between the apartment buildings. Peter rolls his eyes and sighs, but falls in beside Chris.

The strained silence between them gets worse and worse until Chris can't stand it anymore.

“Why didn't you _call_ me?”

Peter stops walking, blinks up at Chris. “I came to your apartment last time, you're supposed to call _me_.”

Chris stops when peter does, looking the scant few inches down, furrowing a brow. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Jeez, how long have you been out of the scene?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Chris is baffled as peter starts explaining all these unwritten rules, and he attempts to counter them, and they end up arguing, loudly, in the middle of the street.

Fluffy apparently takes offense to the yelling and starts yipping at the top of his lungs, and tugging Chris away from Peter.

They ignore the dog, and Peter gets up in Chris' face, reaches out to poke at Chris' chest, which the older man twitches away from. The movement reveals the gun still tucked into the back of his waistband, which sets off a whole new argument, and Fluffy's practically frantic at this, pulling with all his might to get Chris away from Peter. He twists and turns, and manages to slip his collar.

Chris stumbles as he overbalances, and then swears colorfully.

“Now you got two lost pets to answer for,” he growls at Peter, and then turns to hurry after Fluffy.

They follow for three blocks until he ducks into another alley and starts climbing the fire escape.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Peter grumbles, but follows Chris up the ladder, all the way to the roof where they find Evangeline. And four kittens, all wrapped up in several of Chris _and_ Peter's shirts.

“How in the hell...?” Peter shakes his head at the stupid cat. “You have a nice safe place at home, Evangeline. Why would you choose to have kittens _here_?”

A massive black tom cat, scarred up, with what looks like a permanent limp, comes out from behind the heating unit, a low growl starting in his throat and ending up with a hiss that shows some wicked looking teeth.

Fluffy steps forward, teeth bared, and Chris hurriedly scoops the dog up before he gets slaughtered.

Peter's shaking his head and looking at Evangeline. “It's always the bad boys, isn't it?”

-

Somehow Peter manages to coax Evangeline's boyfriend to let him take her and the kittens home, keeping a window open so that he can visit if he wants. Chris helps him, of course, which mollifies Peter a bit, though he's still annoyed with Chris.

“Look,” Chris says as Peter shuts them all in his guest room, “I'm sorry, I didn't know there were rules and such. I've never really dated. Anyone.”

Peter crosses his arms and huffs a sigh. “Well, I _guess_ I'll let you make it up to me.”

Chris arches a brow. “Oh, will you?” he murmurs as he crowds Peter up against his refrigerator, resting his hands on Peter's hips and looking down into the cerulean eyes. “Maybe I think you ought to make it up to me. I did spend the entire day helping you with your cat.”

Peter reaches out and grabs a fistful of Chris' shirt, and opens his mouth, probably to say something insolent, but Chris doesn't wait to find out, just steps back, surprising Peter with a move that ends with the younger man facedown on the kitchen island, Chris reaching around to tug down Peter's zipper. He slides down Peter's jeans until they're just under the curve of his ass, and then reaches for the bottle of olive oil.

Chris leans in to murmur in Peter's ear. “I'm going to fuck you just like this, and then I'm going to give you the chance to earn a second round.”

 


	8. Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: SWIM TEAM AU
> 
> Tags: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Underage, References to Child Abuse

“Alright lazy asses, we got someone new coming in tomorrow,” Coach Lahey sneers from the side of the pool, “and he's going to give you some real competition. None of you can hold a candle to him, and he's a freshman.”

Chris rolls his eyes with the rest of the team, it's a typical Coach speech, not the kind to encourage but to belittle. Not that he cares either way, Chris Argent is the star of the team and he's hardly likely to be upstaged by a freshman. He snorts at the thought of it as he pulls himself out of the water and grabs his towel, folding it around his neck.

“Argent!”

Chris halts in his progression toward the locker room, turns to face Lahey. “Yeah, Coach?”

“I want you to show this kid around in the morning, meet him in the office, show him where things are, you know.” He claps Chris on the back. “We want this kid to be happy, hear?”

“Uh, sure, Coach.” Chris nods and then rolls his eyes once Coach has turned away, and heads for the showers.

Once he's dressed, Chris sets his jaw and lifts his chin, prepares himself, and then steps outside to find his father.

“Christopher, what the hell was up with your 'fly today? Your rhythm was atrocious and you're slow. I could have beat you in a race today.”

 _Hi dad, how was your day? It's good to see you too._ All things Chris doesn't say as he nods and listens to his litany of failures all the way home.

He spends the half-hour after lights out wishing that he'd never decided to take swim lessons when he was five, and then rolls over and lets himself fall into the relief of sleep.

In the morning, Chris remembers to meet the new freshman at the office, and is dismayed to be looking up an inch at the kid. Still, he's team captain, so he forces a smile and holds out his hand. “Peter Hale? I'm Chris Argent. Coach Lahey asked me to show you around.”

Peter slides his hand into Chris' and takes a step forward, and Chris' stomach twists in a weird way, like apprehension only not, and then Peter smiles. “I'll have to thank Coach for that.”

His voice is like a purr, somehow, and it twists Chris up inside even more, and he suddenly feels like there's not enough air in the room. He can't seem to catch his breath, or force himself to let go of Peter's hand, and they might have stood there like that forever. Except the secretary calls out Peter's name and he turns away to retrieve his schedule, and Chris can suddenly breathe.

And that's when he realizes that he'd felt exactly the same way when he'd first met Vicki.

Chris stifles a groan and reminds himself that he does _not_ have time for this, there's a big meet coming up in two days.

He manages not to embarrass himself as he shows Peter where his classes are, and takes him into the locker room to show him where the door to the pool is. For some reason it's been labeled as Laundry for as far back as anyone can remember.

Chris turns around after pointing that out, only to find Peter far to close to him. He takes a step back casually, and then startles as his heel hits the door. Peter steps forward again and rests a hand flat against the door over Chris' left shoulder.

“Coach told me you'd be sure to make me feel welcome, but Christopher...” Peter looks into his eyes. “I just don't feel welcome yet.”

Chris swallows hard. “Oh, um, what's the problem?” He tries to casually duck away from Peter, but the younger boy sidles forward and now his body is pressing against Chris' and yeah, that hard bar of heat against his thigh is definitely Peter's cock rubbing up against him.

“That _problem_ , Christopher, is that you're not on your knees, sucking my dick.” Peter voice is soft and it takes Chris a second to realize what Peter had said.

“Not funny, Hale,” he says, shoving at the younger boy's shoulder. He's spared from anything further by the sound of the door opening for the kids coming in from gym class.

“We'll finish this later,” Peter winks and then steps away to let him past, Chris stalking away with every appearance of ire, until he's out of the freshman's sight, and then he leans back against the chill of an outside wall, waiting for his breathing – and his hard-on – to calm down.

He caught Peter watching him a few times in the hallway, and just did his best to ignore the kid, but it made for an uneasy day, which only got worse when it came time for practice. Because, for once, Coach hadn't been exaggerating.

Peter Hale was a fantastic swimmer, and when it came time for he and the freshman to go head to head, the 'fly of course, Chris' worst stroke, Chris lost by a fair amount. Peter's body was built for the butterfly, the long arms and the powerful chest muscles. He sighed as he pulled himself from the pool, took a quick look into the stands, and winced away at the red rage in his father's face.

Tonight was going to be _bad_ , he already knew it, and so he took his time getting into the shower, putting off the inevitable as long as he could. Gerard always took care not to hit him where it would show, and during swim season, that left a very small area.

He's so focused on his dread that when Peter lays a hand on his shoulder while his head's under the shower, Chris jumps a mile.

“Didn't mean to startle you,” Peter says, insinuating his nude body into Chris' space, pinning the older boy against the cold shower wall. “But I think it's about time we finish what we started.”

“I really don't have time for your crap right now, Hale.” Chris tries, but Peter just smirks and slides his hand down to cup Chris' already stirring cock.

“Oh, I think you do, Christopher. And if you don't..” He opens his eyes wide and affects a sad look. “I'm just going to have to tell Coach about how all you upperclassmen ganged up on me. How do you think he'll take it if the new star of the team refuses to swim against Carthage?”

Chris closes his eyes and shakes his head, but Peter's hand around his neck squeezing lightly, makes them flare open once more.

“You've got thirty seconds to get on your knees for me, or I go running to Coach.” Peter considers a moment. “And I'm sure he'll have a lot to say to your dad.”

Chris can't hide his flinch, and the gleam in Peter's eyes tells him that the freshman knows he's won.

“ _Now_ , Christopher, and I'll tell your dad how nice you were to let me win on the first day to make me feel better about joining the team.”

It's a deal that Chris can't refuse, and so he falls to his knees in the spray of water and reaches for Peter.

As he feels the hot wetness of Chris' mouth close around him, Peter curls his hand in Chris' hair and smirks down at the older boy.

“I have a feeling we're going to be _very_ good friends, Christopher.”

 


	9. Robbery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Tags: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Somnophilia, Dark Chris Argent, Bondage, Gags, Blindfolds, Sex Toys

Christopher Argent sighs and checks his watch. Again. Traffic is absolutely heinous downtown today, and then the cops had come through, making everyone crowd themselves over and the snarl of vehicles is starting to give him a headache. He makes the mistake of rolling his windows down to get some fresh air, because he's only rewarded with the smell of car exhaust. He reaches for the button to roll it back up again, but before he can, there's a hand reaching though, unlocking the door, and then a man slides himself right into Chris' car.

“What the –”

“Hi there, not a lot of time to explain, on the run. I'd appreciate it if you'd get me the hell out of dodge.” There's the brief flash of a gun at the man's waist.

Most people would be at least startled, perhaps frightened. Chris Argent isn't most people. He just so happens to be an international arms dealer, and not easily intimidated by some two bit thief. Chris simply arches a brow.

“What's in it for me?”

The guy furrows a brow in a brief moment of confusion, then tilts his head slightly. “How about, you won't get dead?”

Chris snorts. “Try again.”

The thief growls and lifts the gun to Chris' head. Chris executes a swift maneuver that has the gun in his hand, and leaves the other guys staring in surprise.

“Let's try this again.”

The thief swallows hard. “I'll split the cash with you, man.” Sirens are getting louder and he looks around nervously. “C'mon dude, anything you want, just _go_.”

Chris grabs a cloth from the console and wipes the gun down thoroughly, then studies the other guy a long moment. “ _Anything_?”

The thief starts to nod, then narrows his eyes as Chris' meaning sinks in, then lifts his chin proudly. “If that's what it takes.”

Chris extends his hand. “It's a deal. Chris Argent.”

A hand is reluctantly slid into his. “Peter. Peter Hale.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter.” Chris takes his hand back, wrenches the SUV around and into a lane going the opposite way, then hands his phone to Peter.

“Send a text to the most recent number on the contact list. Tell 'em plans have changed, I won't be at the meeting.”

Peter looks at the phone and then back at Chris. “Is this some sort of trick?”

Chris chuckles low. “Not at all. I plan to be occupied for the next few hours.”

The drive is silent, Peter watching nervously behind them, Chris just watching the road.

Peter whistles low as they pull up to a gate, and then along a driveway to a massive house. “This is your place?”

Argent smirks faintly and nods once. “Yep. Grab your stuff and head on in.”

Peter looks nervous now, but he does as requested, grabbing his gun from the console where Chris had left it, and shoving it into the bag with the cash from the bank.

Chris is waiting fro him, so Peter precedes him in the door, shaking his head at the opulence of the house, already planning where he could hock the décor pieces.

“Head left, down the stairs,” Chris orders, and Peter obeys after a moment of hesitation, his stubbornness warring with the knowledge of the deal he's made. He halts at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Chris to catch up. The older man punches a code in to the keypad next to the door on their right, and the door swings open to reveal a stockpile of weapons, and at least two bags that look suspiciously like what Peter has.

“You can toss your things in there, you won't be needing them for a while.”

Peter refuses to betray the nervousness he's feeling, so he just gives a nonchalant shrug and tosses the bag inside.

Chris reaches up and wraps his hand around the back of Peter's neck. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and Peter sets his jaw at the flash of anger that mask the surge of heat in his gut, but as he shrugs off Chris' hand, he sees the flash of amusement in those blue eyes.

“Alright,” Peter says in a business-like tone, “We doing this here? I got places to be.”

There's that faint ghost of amusement that drifts across Chris' face and then he extends his hand in front of them, pointing to the room at the end of the short hall.

Peter nods and, acting like he's done this before, strides confidently over and pulls the door open – and then halts in the doorway.

“What the hell is this?” he snarls, and then feels a pinch at his neck, and then a burning sensation spread along his skin, right before he collapses to the floor.

“This is your new home, Peter,” Chris tells the unconscious man.

-

Peter groans as he wakes up, and the first thing that he hears is Chris' voice murmuring to him. “Welcome back, sweetheart.” The first thing he feels is something inserts itself into him, and he twists and wriggles but the bonds holding him to the table are secure. He assumes he must be strapped to that bench he'd seen when he walked into the room, but the blindfold lets in no light whatsoever. Peter tries to say something to Chris, to protest, demand to be let free, bu he can't make any words around the gag in his mouth, just gurgling noises.

“Don't worry, Peter, you'll get used to it,” Chris soothes, stroking a hand along the younger man's back as he adds another finger, chuckling low at the increase in noise from the thief. “Eventually.”

Chris' hand moves from Peter's back to reach beneath him, wrapping around his dick and stroking along it slowly as he withdraws his fingers, back down to two and teasing them around Peter's puffy rim. His patience seems endless and despite himself, once the panic is over, Peter feels his body responding, feels his cock stiffening, reacting to Chris' touch. Peter flushes with embarrassment, which perversely just turns him on more, and it's not too long after that before Chris has him right on the edge.

And then removes his hands.

Peter whines behind the gag and it's not until her hears Chris' chuckle that he realizes how far under he had gone, and then as if to make up for it, he struggles wildly against his bonds. Chris just waits patiently, and then inserts something into Peter, but not what the thief had expected. This is not the heated rod of Chris' cock, but something cold and unforgiving, and Peter clenches tightly, automatically trying to expel the invader. Chris wraps his hands around Peter's hips and moves the younger man down slightly. But when he does, the whole angle of the thing changes, and it brushes up against something inside Peter that makes him gasp behind the gag.

“That's it baby,” Chris croons to him, “just like that.”

He fits something around Peter's cock, and it starts vibrating and he can't help but fuck into it, moaning aloud as the movement makes the thing in him slide against that pleasure spot once more.

Chris' dark smirk is unseen as he moves himself to where Peter's gagged, and pushes his thumb through the ring holding his mouth open.

“That's my good boy,” he murmurs, and then steps back to unzip his jeans, tugging them down just slightly so that he can free his rigid cock, breathing a sigh of relief once it's no longer confined. He wraps his left hand around Peter's chin and lifts the thief's face so that it's at the right angle, perversely making it harder for Peter to chase his own pleasure.

“You've got until I finish, Peter, and if you haven't come by then, you won't get another chance 'til tomorrow.”

Chris takes his own dick in his right hand and starts jacking himself, while Peter frantically fucks himself between the two devices, chasing that release.

It's not long at all before Chris pushes his cock into Peter's mouth just enough that his come paints Peter's tongue with stripes of white. Chris keeps stripping himself until he's milked clean, and then he lets Peter's face go, warning him softly.

“You better swallow every drop of that, Peter, or you're going to regret it.”

Peter doesn't doubt it, doing as commanded as he frantically moves his hips, grunting out loudly as he finally manages to orgasm, just as Chris is zipping himself back up.

“Good boy, Peter,” Chris says in approval, and Peter flushes again as he shudders with the aftershocks.

Chris removes the thing in Peter's ass, and replaces it with something else. “That's a plug, Peter, to keep you nice and open for when I want to fuck you.”

The other device is slid free of Peter's dick, and he whimpers with the over-stimulation. Chris moves around to his head and lifts it up again, lifting something to Peter's mouth and as the first drops hit his tongue, Peter recognizes the taste of his own release.

“Swallow it all Peter, it's the only thing you'll be eating tonight.”

When it's all gone, Chris pats him once on the rump and then walks out, leaving Peter alone in the darkness, and wishing he'd never robbed that bank.

 


	10. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'sorry i set the fire alarm in our building off again for the forty-eighth time i was trying to cook' AU
> 
> Tags: Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent
> 
> Note: I can't seem to get away from this 'verse. [Part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/5747933). [Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/5941511).

Chris winces as a familiar buzzing starts in the archway separating his kitchen and hallway, and he waves his hands in the air in front of the smoke detector, trying to fool it to thinking the air is smoke-free. Obviously, it fails to cooperate and so he has to poke the tiny button with a broom handle to shut it off. Only, the smoke has already spread, and he can hear the one in the entryway outside his door going off. And then the one in the bedroom joins it, which sends Fluffy off, and he, naturally, starts barking at it and racing in circles for some reason.

Chris just hangs his head in defeat, and goes to his doorway, nodding sheepishly to his neighbors as they file past. Until Peter Hale, Evangeline in his arms, stops right in front of him.

“What was it this time?”

Chris shifts his gaze and mumbles something, but Peter catches it and shakes his head.

“I don't know how you managed to screw that up. Listen, for the sake of relations within our building, please, no more recipes. Just tell me what you want and I'll cook it for you.”

“I do _not_ need you to cook for me!”

Just then the fire truck pulls up, sirens blaring and the firefighters jump off and head into the building. Peter just arches a brow and gives Chris a significant look.

Chris just crosses his arms and glowers. Right up until the chief firefighter comes up to him.

“Evening, Mr. Argent,” she says, and then hands him a small plastic card. “Me and the crew got you a giftcard. Please use it over Christmas, we'd like to be at home with our families.”

He looks down at the card to a local restaurant and then back up to where Peter is doing is damnedest not to break out into laughter, burying his face in Evangeline's fur.

Chris stomps back in to his apartment and tosses his dinner, pan and all, into the trash. Instead of ordering in, he grabs a couple bowls of cereal and a half bottle of whiskey.

He's had worse dinners.

-

A knock on the door rouses him from his half-drunk dose and he blinks at the door in confusion a long moment before he recalls what to do about the rapping.

“What,” he mumbles as he throws the door open, nearly closing it again as he sees Peter's face on the other side. “Oh. 's you.”

Peter arches a brow. “You're drunk.”

“Liquid dinner.”

Peter rolls his eyes and pushes past Chris, settles the two containers in his hands on Chris' kitchen table. “I brought you dinner.”

Peter opens the container and starts to pull the food free, but Chris stops him with a hand on the shorter man's wrist.

“I'm ready for dessert.” His voice is dark and deep, and Peter can't help the shudder that runs through him. Chris steps closer, grip tightening enough to leave a bruise.

“I'm really not sure this should happen,” Peter manages past the sudden lump in his throat. “You are under the infl – ” He cuts off as Chris' lips press against his own, hot, insistent, demanding.

Chris is in control the whole way to the bedroom, forcing his tongue into Peter's mouth, holding the younger man's wrists behind him at the small of his back and walking – sometimes shoving – backwards.

The back of Peter's knees hit the bed before he really realizes it, and he falls backward onto the bed, Chris tugging his clothing off over his admittedly weak protests, which stop completely when Chris gets his mouth on Peter's cock. He can't think about anything else with that wet heat swallowing him down, and he can't help but fuck up into it, whining when Chris pins his hips down. And then the older man pulls off with a lewd pop, licking down, laving his tongue across the heavy sacs below, before sliding down further, swiping his tongue along the tight pucker of Peter's ass.

Peter can't do anything but fist his hands in the sheets as Chris swirls his tongue around the rim before pushing it ever so slowly inside. He spends what seems like forever there, making out with that furled muscles until it's loose and sloppy wet, and Peter's squirming and wriggling beneath his ministrations.

Peter lets loose a string of swear words that culminates in a demand to be _fucked_ already, and Chris is only too happy to comply, wiping his face on the sheet before kneeling up and agonizingly slowly sliding himself home.

Once Chris is fully seated inside Peter, he reaches for Peter's arms and pins them at the younger man's sides, then slowly slides himself almost all the way free of that tight passage before rapidly slamming within once more.

Peter cries out and tries to roll his hips up but Chris holds him in place, setting his own rhythm. All Peter can do is take what Chris gives him, and it's so close but not _enough_. He's begging before he even realizes it, for more to move, just – anything that will push him over that edge. It's far too long before Chris gives it to him, and he feels like he exists on that plane of _almost_ for ages before Chris shifts his angle slightly, and then that's it, that's the spot that Peter needed hit, and he's crying out Chris' name as his body ripples with the force of his orgasm. The contraction around him pulls Chris over along with Peter, and his hands grip Peter's arms tightly as he fucks himself through his own finish, and then with a soft grunt, pulls out of Peter and falls to the side.

Peter takes a few deep breaths and then murmurs softly. “Now are you ready for dinner?” He looks over when there's no answer, only to find Chris passed out, fast asleep.

 


	11. Undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: spies that have to be fake married on a fake honeymoon on an undercover operation in the tropics au
> 
> Tags: Fake Relationship, Drunken Sex, Dubious Consent, Daddy Kink

Chris Argent nods lightly as Alan Deaton leads him through the mission, how they think the mafia is laundering money through these retreats for newlyweds that are cropping up all over on these tiny little islands in equatorial countries where the laws are much more lax as it comes to taxes and other monetarial concerns. He thumbs through the brochure as the phone rings and his boss takes the call, murmuring softly into the receiver.

Deaton notices the furrowed brow as he comes back over and inquires what the problem might be.

Chris holds up the pamphlet. “This is a same-sex only retreat, boss. Vic can do a lot of disguises but no one is going to mistake her for a man.”

“Ah,” Deaton smiles serenely, “I've already handled that situation. Ms. Campbell will be working with my sister, Marin, on this assignment. You will be working with – ” He's interrupted by a knock at the door and chuckles. “Well, there he is now.”

Chris' mind runs through the possibilities, settling on likely to be McCall or Stilinski, and so he's surprised to see an unfamiliar face behind Alan.

“Peter Hale,” he says, stepping past the boss, offering out his hand, and somehow managing to make his name sounds like a come-on. Chris hates him immediately.

“Chris Argent,” he says coolly, offering his own hand for the briefest handshake in the history of handshakes. “We leave at 8 in the morning,” he says to the wall behind Peter's head, nods to Deaton, and walks out the door.

Peter's chuckle follows him out.

-

Chris is annoyed to find that Peter is apparently a morning person. He's waiting with fucking matching luggage and two cups of something that only superficially resembles coffee, what with all the crap that's layered on top of it. He'll stick to his home brewed black store brand, thank you very much, and just ignores the offering, brushing past with his single beat up duffel and heading to the check in.

Peter settles easily down next to him, and offers a black velvet box. Chris arches a brow and doesn't reach for it.

“You forgot this yesterday,” Peter says and opens it to show the wedding ring inside it. Chris stares at it for a long minute before reaching out and grabbing it to slip on his finger. He studies the platinum band for a long moment, wondering if it's the only one he'll ever see.

With a brief shiver, Chris pulls himself from the maudlin thoughts, he knew what he had been in for when he signed on with the agency. He nods a brief thanks to his new partner, or at least partner-for-the-duration, and then sits in quiet contemplation.

Peter slips his hand in Chris' and leans close to whisper against Chris' ear. “This is a charter jet, I'm guessing most of the people on it will be heading to the same place. I think we should be in character.”

Chris will deny the shiver that runs through him at the feeling of Peter's breath on his neck until his dying day. He simply nods his agreement and picks up the closest magazine, though he lets his hand rest in Peter's until the boarding call comes.

They settle down into their seats, and Chris digs out their dossiers, disguised as magazines. Chris' is the one on guns, and Peter's is apparently fashion. Chris arches a brow and Peter flashes a smirk. “Put your judgy eyebrows away, Christopher.”

Chris blinks and then growls. “It's Chris.”

Peter pats his knee and then flicks open his magazine to learn all about Robert Christopher Campbell and his husband Eli Peter Campbell.

“Is this your last name or mine?” Peter murmurs, “It doesn't say.”

“Mine,” Chris says shortly. “It's my partner's last name. We use it undercover frequently enough that I'll naturally react to it.”

Peter nods, all business and Chris feels a moment of hope that maybe this won't be as bad as he fears.

“I guess that makes you the top then,” Peter winks, and Chris grits his teeth and sighs.

Apparently not.

_-_

“Misters Campbell?”

Chris shunts himself into character and flashes a grin at the man who's called their names. “Yes!” He rises, tugging Peter after him, the bellhop settling their luggage on a cart and heading for the large elevator in the back.

“We have a meal prepared for all our guests during the orientation. Your things will be delivered to your room.”

“Excellent.” Chris looks at Peter, noting with a flash of something dark inside, that he's got at least an inch on the younger man. “Come on, baby, you hungry.”

Peter looks briefly disoriented by the sudden change in Chris' behavior but he recovers swiftly and then smiles just as big. “Oh that sounds ah- _maze_ -ing!”

Chris secretly thinks that Peter's overdoing it, but all thought of that it driven from his mind by the next thing Peter does. Peter presses his whole body up against Chris', shamelessly rubbing up on him, and beams up at the older man. “Doesn't it, _Daddy_ ,” he continues in a stage whisper.

Chris hopes he doesn't look as poleaxed as he feels, and he's grateful for the loose cut of his dress slacks, because he has an _entirely_ inappropriate reaction that he's determined to tell himself has absolutely _nothing_ to do with what Peter just called him. He doesn't flush until he notices that he's staring at Peter's ass, perfectly framed in those too-tight jeans.

Peter, as if he fucking knows what he's doing to Chris, turns around and looks over his shoulder, drops a wink before he continues, and Chris remembers that he _loathes_ this guy.

-

It even harder to remember when they finally get into their suite, and there's wine and oysters and a hot tub, and Peter's stripping right in the middle of the room, somewhat unsteadily after the sheer amount of alcohol he'd imbibed. Chris had tossed back a whiskey (or four) during the presentation, trying to drown out the sound of Peter's voice saying, “ _Daddy_ ”. (It didn't work.)

And now he's got an eyeful of bare ass, and it's the final snap to his tenuous grasp on his self-control.

“Peter,” he growls, forgetting entirely about the mission, about anything but taking apart this arrogant, obnoxious man, “I've had _enough_ of you flaunting yourself.”

Peter isn't daunted in the least. “Really.” He lifts his chin and crosses his arms and Chris doesn't even know what he's going to do before he's got his hand around the back of Peter's neck, and he's slamming the younger man face first into the plush comforter of the queen size bed.

Peter squirms as Chris' hand lets go of his neck, but Chris slaps his hand on the pale skin of one cheek, taking a moment to admire the red handprint that forms. Peter freezes for three very long seconds and then grumbles something into the bed. Chris is beyond hearing. He smacks Peter's ass again, a handful of times, until it's blushing a pretty pink, and the younger man is completely limp beneath him.

Chris grabs two handfuls of that heated flesh, pulls the cheeks of Peter's ass apart to look at the furled muscle normally hidden from view. He leans in and slides his tongue across it several times, grinning at the noises that Peter's making.

“Not so mouthy now, are you Peter?” he says darkly and then swats Peter's thigh lightly. “Hands and knees. _Now_.”

Peter complies immediately, unable to hide his moan as Chris swirls a finger around the spit-slick pucker and then pushes it just slightly in.

“That's it, baby,” he murmurs absently, twisting and then pushing further in. “You want this badly, don't you?”

Peter pushes back in answer, fucking himself on Chris' finger, and Chris lets him for a few times, and then surprises him with a second finger. Peter gasps aloud, but he barely has time to react because Chris is licking his palm and wrapping it around Peter's dick. He's not sure if it's been as long for Peter as it has been for him, but he's smug at the speed in which Peter gets off to his ministrations, shuddering there in place as he pumps out his release onto the bed.

Chris removes his fingers as Peter slumps onto his side, eyes fluttering closed lazily. A small basket on the bedside table catches Chris' eye, and he grins slowly as he sees a particular set of tiny packets tucked into it. He grabs one and rips it open with his teeth, dribbling the lube onto his hand and then wrapping the slippery hand around his own cock.

Chris groans aloud as he slides it along himself, already so close to orgasm, and he's just planning to jack off, but then he sees Peter's hole still puffy red, and he thinks about how tightly it squeezed around his fingers. Thought is suited to deed, and it takes two steps for him to be next to Peter's prone form, lifting an unresisting thigh up with one hand, and lining his cock up with the other.

Chris swears softly as he presses into Peter, because it's even better than he'd thought, it's better than _anything_ , and Chris is _lost_ in his own pleasure as he ruts into Peter, who's drifted off into drunken half-doze.

Chris digs his fingers into Peter's thighs and fucks hard into him three more times, and then he's _coming_ , so hard that he whites out a minute, falling to his side next to Peter.

In about five deep breaths, Chris is suffused with guilt and the sense that he's just blown this whole mission.

Right until Peter turns his head and offers a sleepy smile, and slurs out, “Thank you, Daddy.”

 

 


	12. Handyman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'the new handyman's hot so i'm gonna keep breaking stuff' au
> 
> Tags: Kinda Dub-Con, Chris is an Asshole, But so is Peter
> 
> Note: Yeah, Apartment 'verse again.

Peter Hale's been in his apartment exactly six months when his dishwasher decides to give up the ghost. But it doesn't do anything so normal as just stop working, no his has to quit mid-cycle. The rattling noise it always makes just stops, and then water starts leaking from around the edges.

Evangeline is on the kitchen floor when it happens, daintily eating her dinner, and she is not pleased to have suddenly wet paws. She spits and hisses at the dishwasher, and Peter's unlucky enough to reach for her at the wrong moment, getting a full set of claws to the face. He swears loudly and tosses her onto the couch, where she curls up and primly starts licking her paws.

Muttering under his breath about ungrateful felines, Peter grabs every towel he can find and starts shoving them in the way of the water flow while he calls the super. He promises to send the handyman over right away and Peter hangs up, grabbing a comforter and using it like a towel. He pulls the dishwasher door open, thinking maybe he can bail the water out, but he gets hit in the face and chest with a spray of hot water.

Peter gasps in surprise, and then hears the knock at the door. He takes a deep breath and goes to it swiftly, pulling the door open – to see Chris.

“Wait, _you're_ the handyman? You didn't tell me that.”

Chris shrugs. “You didn't ask.” He looks at Peter's bleeding face and wet shirt. “You alright?”

“I'm fine,” Peter snaps and then points imperiously at the dishwasher.

Chris rolls his eyes and starts unbuttoning his flannel shirt, sliding it off to reveal a gray sleeveless shirt that fits him like a second skin. Peter's mouth is suddenly dry and Chris figures out the problem far too quickly for Peter's liking, though not without getting himself a bit wet and Peter has never wanted to lick someone all over this bad in his entire life.

All he can do is nod as Chris takes his leave, flannel slung over his shoulder, jeans tight around that perfect ass as Chris pulls the door shut behind him.

-

Two days later it's the toaster that fritzes out and technically it's not the handyman's purview, but Peter calls him anyway, and is highly rewarded because Chris shows up in a pair of jeans that he's obviously just tugged on, because he didn't bother to button them, and a leather tool-belt wrapped around his hips. Peter just sits at his kitchen table sipping his coffee while Chris fiddles with the toaster, declaring it a lost cause eventually. Peter can't find it in himself to be upset about it. In fact, he's somewhat grateful to that toaster, and he pats it gently before chucking it in the garbage.

-

It's another week before something else breaks and Peter's almost gleeful as he calls Chris at five am, hoping that he'll come up in pajamas. Peter gets his wish, only just barely managing to contain himself as he sees the black flannel outlining Chris' crotch, and he has to tear himself away from staring at it to show Chris the way into his tiny laundry room, where the dryer is making odd thumping noises.

Chris kneels down to look inside, and the flannel pulls tight against his ass, and Peter's curling his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms as he ogles Chris.

Peter forces a calm, mildly interested look as Chris pulls free a towel, now shredded from the drum and hands it to Peter. He sighs and shakes his head at the towel. “Thank you, Christopher,” he says casually and steps to the side.

But instead of pushing past him in order to leave, Chris turns and faces him, crowding Peter up against the newly repaired dryer. “That could have waited for morning,” he growls low, and Peter refuses to acknowledge what that voice is doing to him, so he lifts his chin, and because he's an asshole, Peter points out that it is, in fact, morning.

Chris is not amused and simply grabs the back of Peter's neck, turning him, pinning him down over the dryer. Peter squirms right up until Chris presses himself against Peter, and he feels the hard outline of Chris' cock against his ass.

“Is this what you want, Peter? Is this why you keep calling me? All you had to do was ask, Peter.” He grinds against the pinned down man's backside a while and then leans forward, draping himself across Peter. “But you're not going to get it unless you ask. Real nice.”

Peter's pride wars with his overwhelming desire to beg Chris to fuck him, and he's silent as Chris tugs down Peter's pajama pants and slides a spit-slick finger down to tease at the tight rim of his pucker, and then Peter's blurting it out before his brain can catch up with his mouth.

“Oh god, fuck me already.”

Chris snorts and then pulls his cock free of the flannel covering it, licks his palm and slicks it up. He presses forward, slides his thickness along the cleft between Peter's ass cheeks teasingly before murmuring softly to this neighbor. “That didn't sound much like asking, Peter.”

He continues fucking that part as Peter stutters out something that's closer to asking, continuing to deny the younger man until he's well and truly begging, and only then does he relent, sliding his cock slowly into Peter, who's still bent over the dryer.

Chris fucks Peter as his own pace for a while before sliding his hand down to wrap around the other man's cock and match his rhythm, fucking into Peter and jacking him with the same tempo, and apparently it works, because Peter cries out Chris' name and then shudders beneath Chris, convulsing against the dryer before collapsing onto it. Chris fucks him through it until he follows Peter over that cliff, grunting as he pulses inside his neighbor, and then taking a deep breath as he slides his cock free, wiping himself clean with the towel. Chris tucks himself away and grabs his tools and leaves the apartment without another word.


	13. Soccer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: little league coach and one of the parents fall in love au
> 
> Tags: Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Drunk Sex, Car Sex

“Nice kick, Allison!” Chris high fives his daughter as she gets the soccer ball past the goalie, not an easy task, since the young lady in question has almost supernatural reflexes.

“Good blocking today, Malia,” he's sure to tell her as she trots in off the field, lifting her face to the stands, empty except for one man. Her father never misses a practice, just sits there _watching_. Chris follows her gaze a moment and eyes the man, who gives his daughter a brusque nod and then turns to meet Chris' gaze. His eyebrows arch and his lips quirk. Chris has never wanted to punch someone for so little in his entire life. He nods once and then turns away, shaking it off as he refocuses on the girls.

Chris finds out that he _can_ actually want to punch someone more when the man, Peter Hale, saunters over and introduces himself after practice. And it's not that he says anything particularly untoward, it's the way he says it, arrogant and somehow suggestive without actually being suggestive. It has him gritting his teeth so hard he gives himself a headache thinking about it later that afternoon.

It doesn't help that Chris' imagination takes him right from throttling to tearing the guy's clothes off. Chris rubs his temples and swears and tries to think of anything else, but he can't stop seeing that sinfully exposed neck and the sharp v of Peter's shirt framing an admittedly gorgeous chest, and he just knows those nipples poking through that shirt are going to be sensitive as –

_Damn him to hell._

Chris sets his jaw and reluctantly slips his hand inside his boxers, rubs along the erection that refuses to die down, guiltily thinking through all of the things he wants to do to the father of his star goalie. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Chris is coming, and hard, harder than he has in ages, and it _pisses him the fuck off_. He hopes that this will be the end of it, and he can move along and away from this stupid weird obsession.

He manages to distract himself until after the game on Saturday, after the high fives for the other team, after he's told Malia what a great game she played, when he sees her run up to a woman standing next to Peter and throw her arms around the lady. Naturally, she's absolutely _gorgeous_ , striking and something about her just screams strength of character.

Chris can't decide if he relieved or annoyed when she's introduced as Peter's sister, Malia's aunt. She gives him a penetrating stare, then turns to look at Peter. He, in turn, gives her a face full of absolute innocence. Talia Hale, for that's her name, returns her attention back to Chris and compliments him on his coaching. He just nods and forces a polite smile, because before he'd met Peter, she would have been exactly Chris' type. He decides to drink the thoughts of Peter away once all the girls have been distributed to their homes.

Chris drives straight to his favorite hole in the wall bar, only just remembering to swap out his uniform shirt for a tee from the bag of them he keeps in the back. He orders a glass of whiskey, and a bottle to go with it, and takes it back to his favorite table – which is occupied. He pauses a moment, turns to look for another, then snaps his head back around as he realizes just _who_ is sitting in his seat.

Chris slams the bottle and glass down and leans into Peter's space. “What the _hell_ are you doing here, Hale?”

Peter lifts his chin to look at Chris, the maneuver putting his lips a scant few centimeters away from the coach's. A smirk spreads slowly across Peter's face. “Hello, Christopher,” he says softly.

Chris sees red. He wants to punch Peter and throttle him, and – _apparently kiss him_ , because that's what he ends up doing. And then it hits him that Peter's kissing him _back_ , and then there's no real cognizant thought, just the slow slide of Peter's tongue across his, the heat of their mouths, and then the electricity that suffuses him as Peter slides his hand up Chris' thigh.

He's not even sure how they get out to his SUV, but he's thankful that it's not a smaller car as he slouches on the backseat, Peter straddling his lap and tugging down Chris' zipper to free his achingly hard cock. Peter wraps both hands around them together and Chris moans into the younger man's mouth as Peter bucks his hips up, fucking them both through the tight grasp of hands.

Chris just leans back, letting Peter take over, just letting his hands fall to settle on the pistoning hips, and he wants to tell Peter everything he intends to do to him, but Chris can't seem to stop kissing the man for even a second. Before Chris is really ready, he feels the blush of heat across his gut and he pulls away long enough to warn Peter, who just tightens his grip and buries blunt teeth at the crook of Chris' neck. And then the coach is _coming_ , hard and violently, jerking up into Peter while the younger man thrusts a few more times before he, too, is spilling over his hands. Peter slumps forward, rests his forehead against Chris' while he catches his breath.

“I tried so hard to get you out of my system,” Peter says, “I thought this would do it.” He takes a deep breath. “Bit even now, even just after that, I still want more.”

Chris reaches up and cups Peter's cheek in his hand. “I'm all yours.”

 


	14. Laser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: LASER TAG AU
> 
> Tags: Bit of Angst, bb!Petopher, Abuse of Italics
> 
> Note: I have never played laser tag in my life, I had to google it. I still don't understand it, but hopefully I got the general gist of things.

There's only the two of them left, Chris and some freshman, the kid brother of one of the guy's girlfriends, talked into including him so that he can make more friends or something. It's not working, especially not with Chris Argent.

Chris is ticked off, because not only does the kid keep eluding him, _the master of this sport_ , but he's just a _kid_ , and it's making Chris look bad. He _always_ wins, he supposed to win,  Chris _never_ loses. He's been training at tracking and hunting thinking creatures down since before he has memories. He can just about hear Gerard's voice (he doesn't even call him 'father' in his head anymore) and how he would mock Chris if this were a training assignment.

Chris frets and stews as he stalks through the maze, silent as the grave, ignoring the sounds of the party outside as he sets his jaw and focuses on attaining his objective. Chris methodically, but swiftly, clears the areas, knowing he's faster than anyone else, and trapping the kid in one tiny area. He comes around the corner pulling his trigger – and sees only empty space.

And then feels a cold muzzle right at the back of his neck.

“You're dead,” the kid whispers into his ear, and Chris slams his elbow back at the guy's face on reflex. Fortunately, the kid's reflexes are better and he ducks out of the way. “Easy, killer, it's just laser tag.”

Chris is too pissed to apologize. “You _cheated_. Somehow.”

“Nope,” he says with a mocking smirk on his face, “You lost fair and square.”

“I never lose,” Chris snarls, and the guy tilts his head.

“Ah, so it's a pride thing? Well then, I'll make you a deal. I'll say that you won. If,” he pauses for dramatic effect and Chris can't resist an eyeroll, “you get on your knees and blow me.”

Chris sets his jaw. “You're an asshole.”

“I'm absolutely serious, Christopher.”

“Dude, no. I don't even know your name and I don't – I'm not – _like_ that.” He lowers his voice. “I don't _do_ guys.” _Mostly_. “I'm dating Vicky Campbell.”

The kid smiles even wider. “My name's Peter and that,” he taps Chris' chest over where his heart is, “was a lie. And it's no secret that Vicky makes out with Melissa Delgado in the girl's locker room all the time.”

Chris shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Come on, Christopher,” Peter murmurs, eyes strikingly blue for a brief moment, “get on your knees for me.”

For a moment, Chris _wants_ to, so badly that he can taste it, the bitter saltiness on his tongue, and the depth of that longing shocks him back into reality. He's an Argent, no one puts him on his knees.

“Kid got me,” he says loudly, joining the party in the other room, leaving Peter behind in the darkness. He doesn't see the younger boy's eyes glow fiercely blue watching him walk away.

-

Peter is leaning against his locker the next morning at school, and Chris can't help a moment of admiration for the guts this kid's got. A freshman in the senior's hallway is fair game. Only, no one seems to bother him, in fact, a couple of them greet Peter as they walk by.

Peter correctly interprets Chris' expression and opens his mouth, something sarcastic on the tip of his tongue no doubt, when the star of the basketball team wanders by, reaches out and claps a hand on Peter's shoulder. “You playing tonight, Hale?”

Chris doesn't know what Peter responds with, because his whole world has narrowed down to one word. 'Hale' rings through his ears, through his mind as he turns on his heels and walks right out of school, out through the doors and into the forest, just keeps walking until he can't hear anything that even remotely resembles humanity. And then he sits on the nearest available surface and quietly prepares to have a nervous breakdown.

Somehow, he knows Peter's there, even though the kid hasn't said a word. He doesn't look up. Chris doesn't know what to say.

“You _did_ cheat at laser tag.” _Really, Chris, that's what you're opening with?_

“What makes you say that, Christopher?”

Chris looks at Peter now, rounds on him with a sudden burst of fury that has Peter's nostrils flaring as he takes a step back.

“Christopher _what_ , Peter? _Do you know who I am_?”

For the first time since he's met the kid, Peter seems off-balance and confused. “What are you talking about?”

Chris barks a bitter laugh, he can't help it. He sits down heavily once more, looks away from the younger boy.

“Argent, Peter. Christopher Argent.”

The silence is so loud and deep Chris thinks that Peter's taken off, but when he looks back, Peter's just _staring_ at him.

“You can't have your nervous breakdown yet, I haven't finished with mine.” _You say the stupidest things under pressure, Chris._

Peter blinks once, twice, and then laughs, a short wry twist of amusement that makes Christ want to kiss it off his lips. Except he doesn't, he _can't_ , because Peter's a _wolf_ , and Chris is a _hunter_ and there's _no way this ends well_.

“There's no way this ends well, is there?” says Peter.

Chris shakes his head.

Peter shrugs and takes one step forward, then another, reaches a hand out to Chris. “Then we might as well have some fun before everything goes to hell.”

Chris looks at the hand, looks at Peter, and for the first time in his life, takes a step away from Gerard's way of doing things. He puts his hand firmly in Peter's and grins. “I'm in.”

 


	15. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‘Omg I can’t believe you still listen to CDs let me help you digitize’ AU
> 
> Tags: Hand Jobs, Rimming, Peter being a brat
> 
> Note: Yeah. Again. I know.

“Christopher, what _are_ you doing?”

“I”m looking for something.”

Peter eyes the seven open cardboard boxes strewn through Chris' living room. “Having trouble with that I see.”

Fluffy pops up out of a box with some sort of pink and blue stuffed rodent in his mouth, offers Peter his customary snarl as a greeting and then takes his prize into the other room and under the bed. Peter hopes that wasn't important because Fluffy seems hell bent on rending it to pieces. But at least he's not focused on Peter for once, so he shrugs it off and starts peering in boxes.

“What exactly – ”

“Ha! Got it.” Chris carries out a box that looks identical to all the others, and sets it on the kitchen table.

“Is there a reason none of these boxes have any sort of labels?”

“Don't need it,” Chris says, picking up things at random and stuffing them in boxes willy-nilly before sealing them up and putting them back in the closet. “I know where everything is.”

“Mm-hmm,” is all Peter says before peering into the open box on the table.

“Woke up with a song stuck in my head,” Chris explains, “and I felt like listening to the CD.”

Peter sneezes as Chris blows the dust off the top layer of plastic cases. “Why didn't you just get online and iTunes or YouTube it or something?”

“Eh, that stuff's complicated. This is much easier.”

Peter covers his face with his palm. “I'm dating an old man.”

“Technically, you're _fucking_ one. I'm fairly certain we haven't been on a single date. Unless you count the time we were on the roof after your cat went and got herself knocked up.” Chris chuckles as he starts digging through the CDs, makes stacks and stacks of cases.

Peter looks around. “Where's your computer?”

Chris points to the guest room, where Peter's never been. He takes that as blanket permission and goes right on in, sighing when he sees the ancient desktop, which isn't even plugged in.

“I just cannot with this right now,” Peter grumbles at the ceiling, then walks back through the kitchen and past Chris, who's making more precarious towers of CDs, and he's extremely not surprised to hear the crash of one of them as he goes up the stairs to his apartment. Peter's got an extra laptop lying around since he upgraded the past spring. Might as well use it to bring Chris somewhat closer to the current century.

Peter brings it back down with him, double checks that he's reset everything to factory, and then starts making the CDs into digital files. Chris has finally found the album he wants to listen to, and he's got it playing in a stereo that still has a tape deck. Peter does his best not to look over.

“I'm too young to be dating someone who has a tape deck,” he mutters as he replaces the CD with the next one.

Chris starts digging in the closet and pulls out an honest to goodness 8-track player, sets it in Peter's lap. “Is it too soon in our relationship to break up over personal differences?” Peter asks as he stares at the electronic device in his lap like it's going to bite him.

“We're not in a relationship,” Chris says, head buried in the closet. “Ha.” Peter already knows what's coming.

Yep, it's a record player settled down next to him on the couch. “Do you _ever_ throw anything away?”

“There's a wireless radio set in the bedroom,” Chris chuckles.

“No, there is not,” Peter says and gets up to investigate. He thinks he would remember seeing something like that, even if he hadn't exactly been paying attention.

Peter gets three steps through the door when he hears it close behind him, and he turns just in time to find himself being picked up by Chris. Peter wraps his legs around the older man's waist automatically, as Chris turns them and presses Peter against the door.

“I lied,” Chris grins and then proceeds to drive all thought of retaliation from Peter's head with his tongue. When he pulls back, Chris' lips curve in a faint smirk. “Old, am I?”

“ _Ancient_ ,” Peter confirms with a nod, and then a gasp as Chris pulls them away from the wall and tosses Peter on the bed.

“I'll show you ancient,” Chris growls, tearing Peter's clothing free with surprising speed and then lifting Peter's thighs to practically bend him in half.

“Christopher – ” Peter starts but he doesn't get to finish, because Chris dives down and slides his tongue between the cheeks of Peter's ass, lapping sloppily at the younger man's tight muscle. Whatever Peter had been about to say ends in a soft punched out moan as Chris pushes his tongue inside Peter. He does it again and again, just making out with that hole until Peter's squirming and begging, his cock just dripping precome.

Chris doesn't stop though, just keeps swirling his tongue around that rim while he lifts his hand to wrap around that achingly hard cock and stroke Peter to completion while his face is buried in Peter's ass. Chris groans into Peter's hole as he feels the muscle flutter around his tongue, and the warmth of Peter's come coat his hand.

Chris steps back, wiping his face on the sheet, and then unzips his jeans with his free hand, using Peter's come to lube himself up once his cock is free. Then he kneels onto the bed, hooking Peter's nerveless legs over his shoulders, and presses slowly into the younger man.

Peter gives a tiny whimper as Chris moves inside him, drifting in orgasmic bliss while Chris just uses Peter's body, not bothering with finesse, just fucking hard, chasing his own release. When he does, Chris hols himself inside his lover as he fills Peter with his come and leans down, capturing those lips once more. “Call me old all you want, but I can fuck you into the mattress any day of the week.”

 


	16. Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: date auction for charity AU
> 
> Tags: Rough Sex

“Christopher Argent, you are doing this for the good of the _company_.” Lydia's eyes are flashing and for all that she's tiny, she is fierce and he can see why Allison chose her.

He crosses his arms. “I'll write them a check.”

“No, you won't. You'll get up there and show them those pretty blue eyes and that million watt smile, and play nice for some lady for an hour, and make Argent Arms look less like an international gunrunning service, and more like a wholesome all-American company.”

“I can fire you, you know.”

Lydia smirks. “No, you can't. I wrote the contract myself.”

Allison wanders in as they're facing off, wraps a soft blue tie around his neck, ties it efficiently and tucks her arm in through his, and before he knows it, Chris is in a green room with over twenty other gentlemen. He feels like a crow among peacocks with the sheer level of handsome, and sighs, resigns himself to an evening of embarrassment.

Some little, competitive, part of him keeps track of how much everyone's going for, the first couple for a few thousand, then the bidders getting warmed up and moving into the tens of thousands.

One by one they left the room until Chris is the last one left. He buries his face in his hands. Of course he'd be last. It's not enough to be humiliated, he has to be humiliated as the main event.

Well, at least he'll do it with dignity.

Chris straightens his shoulders, checks his tie in the mirror, and then shrugs, letting his habitual stoicism wash over him. It is what it is, he tells himself and then turns as he hears his name called, and steps through the door.

Chris puts on a big smile and waves to the large crowd, steps into the spotlight reserved for those to be auctioned off. He waits uncomfortably as the – announcer? auctioneer? the lady talking anyway – as she goes through a ridiculously, and unnecessarily Chris thinks, long list of his “accomplishments”. Most of those “Board Member” of such and such are honorary, as are all three of his supposed degrees, and the rest – heir to the Argent fortune and the like – is all an accident of birth. He considers Victoria to have been the one who built the company from what it was when his father had driven it into the ground, but his name's on the building, and it's not like he has the opportunity to argue. He just keeps smiling and looking around at the people in the crowd – and hoping he just isn't the one to go for the smallest amount.

Which is why he's surprised when the bidding opens at ten thousand. Chris is even more shocked that it quickly escalates into a bidding war that gets shut down by a smug – and male! - voice from the shadows bidding _one million_. He's still stunned when he's escorted off the stage, and he turns to the model and asks, “Who _was_ that?”

“Peter Hale, sir,” she says.

“The _senator_?!”

-

“I hear you wrote most of that new gun control bill,” Chris greets the man who paid one million dollars for an hour with him.

Peter blinks once, then steps forward into what is definitely Chris' space. “It doesn't look like it hurt you too bad, Christopher,” he murmurs.

Chris doesn't like the way Senator Hale says his name, like he's somehow caressing it with his mouth. He lowers an icy gaze to the (slightly) shorter man. “Apparently people who are born with money don't appreciate what it takes to start from the ground up and make it all yourself.”

Peter steps still closer and Chris can feel the heat of his body. “Apparently, arms dealers don't know that they're on the wrong side of history.”

“Senator Hale, I hate everything you stand for,” Chris says in his most lethal voice, the one that makes interns cry.

It makes the younger man smile with dark promise. “Peter.” He leans forward to whisper into Chris' ear. “I bet you'd like to take that aggression out on something, wouldn't you...Christopher?”

Chris very nearly wraps his hand around the other mans' throat, but they're in a packed room, and all he can do is grit his teeth and glare.

Peter nods. “Room 760, five minutes.” And he slips away to mingle with the crowd.

Chris finds himself watching Peter's ass. He tears his gaze away and vows he'll never give the senator the satisfaction.

-

“ _Harder_ , Christopher,” Peter hisses, urging the businessman into a more ruthless pace, his face crushed against the back of the hotel room door, which was as far as they'd gotten.

Chris had taken one step into the room, angry with himself for being there, and seen that smug, knowing look in Peter eyes. He'd grabbed the senator by the back of the neck and slammed him up against the door, growled into his ear, “This is what you want?”

Peter had managed to gasp out a yes, and Chris had let himself go, had literally ripped Peter's dress shirt and bit down hard on the shorter man's shoulder while holding his wrists at the small of his back. Chris used his free hand to unfasten Peter's belt and viciously tug his pants down just enough to reveal the pale globes of his ass – and the plug securely nestled between them.

“You prepped for this?” Chris sneers as he twists and tugs it free, takes a moment to look down at the fluttering hole, and then shakes his head as he takes his place behind Peter. “You had high hopes for the night, senator.”

“Or perhaps – ” Peter had started, but Chris had mashed his face against the cold surface of the door.

“Shut the fuck up, Hale,” Chris had snarled before lining himself up and sliding into the slick, open hole with one smooth thrust.

Peter had not shut up, still was talking, demanding more and more from Chris, and so now he lifts his hand from where it had been wrapped around Peter's neck, and puts three fingers in the younger man's mouth, depressing his tongue so that he can't say a word.

Chris fucks Peter at _his_ pace, ignoring the senator's cock which is trapped between Peter's body and the unforgiving metal of the door.

He lets Peter's wrists go and wraps that hand around Peter's neck, squeezing tightly as he fucks into Peter as hard as he can. A handful of those and he's coming, harder than he has in a while, whiting out for a moment.

When he's back to himself, Chris plucks that plug off the table and shoves it back home, ignoring the whimpers beneath his fingers, and then steps back, completely disengaging himself from the shorter man. Without a word, Chris steps into the hotel room's bathroom, and strips more fully, locking the door with an audible click, then steps into the shower.

When he gets out, Peter is gone. Chris shrugs his suit back on and heads back down to re-join the party.

 


	17. Perfect Combinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: offers other person the second ~~twix~~ _reeses_ at a bus stop au

Peter's aware of the other boy long before he looks up, sees Peter sitting there on the rock that serves as a bus stop for this section of Beacon Hills High students.

“Hey,” the older boy says coolly and gives Peter a brusque nod before settling into a parade rest stance. It's not an affectation, peter thinks, the kid looks like a soldier, loose but tense, seemingly staring straight ahead but watching everywhere at once.

Peter puts two and two together.

“Hunter, huh? Must be an Argent. Only ones I know of in town.”

The guys startles as if Peter's grown claws at him or something, but manages to recover quickly enough. “I don't know what you're – ”

“Quit the crap,” Peter says and flashes his eyes at the Argent kid.

Oddly, it seems to relax him, and he smirks a bit. “And that makes you a Hale.”

Peter gestures with his hand regally and bends over in the best approximation of a bow one can manage when sitting. “Peter Hale.”

“Chris Argent,” the guy returns, hand settled oddly on his hip, and Peter realizes that he's used to carrying a gun there. Hunting is not a easy life for kids.

Suddenly, Peter feels a bit sorry for him.

“Hey, you like Reese's?” He digs in his bookbag and pulls out a bright orange package. “They're my favorite. I'll share with you.”

Chris looks suspicious.

Peter rolls his eyes. “I'm flattered that you think I'm someone clever enough to know in advance that you'd be coming this way, when I'm guessing you didn't know until an hour or so ago.”

Chris narrows his eyes.

“I've met hunters before,” Peter says, opening the package and tugging the first Reese's free, before offering the rest of the package to Chris. “Don't stay in one place for very long.”

After a moment of thought, Chris reaches out and takes the candy from Peter, but stays a wary distance away from him.

“Thanks,” he says shortly, and then the bus pulls up, and Chris follows him on. The hunter walks all the way to the back seat of the bus and stares the kid sitting there down until he moves. Chris sits in the middle of the seat, making it clear that no one is welcome to share.

No one tries.

-

Peter feeds him candy every morning, and Chris unbends just a little, until Peter sees the occasional smile, and teases out broad strokes of Chris' home life.

Turns out they both have an overbearing family member who's decided their life for them. And an obnoxious younger family member who won't stop following them around.

Peter even convinces Mr. “I always follow the rules” to skip school one day.

They have their first kiss in the woods of the preserve. Peter's kissed other boys before but to Chris it's all new. He takes to it with a vengeance that leaves Peter breathless with wonder.

“It's never felt like _that_ before,” he says, wide-eyed.

Chris smirks slowly, blue eyes dark as he leans in again, rests his hands on Peter's hips and pulls the other boy close enough that their hardnesses are pressing into each other...and it's amazing.

A sudden noise startles them apart, and though it's a deer, they decide it's late enough that they should head home.

But a week later they do it again, and this time they rub up against each other until they come in their pants and it's the greatest thing that's ever happened to either of them. Right up until they have to walk home with a cold wet spot along their front.

“Next time we're getting a motel room,” Chris says with a wince, and Peter stops dead in his tracks, tilts his head and smirks at Chris.

“Next time, we can go all the way.”

Chris can't resist that light of challenge in Peter's eyes and he reaches out to pull Peter close, wraps his hand around the back of the wolf's neck and whispers softly.

“I'm going to fuck you, Peter.” He's been experimenting with overheard dirty talk, and he's pretty sure he's got it right, because Peter actually moans and sags against him, and they waste some more time with sloppy kisses and groping, and they're hard all over again when they split apart.

“No, not again,” Chris says when Peter tries to rub up on him. “I'm already sticky.”

Peter thinks about the pictures he saw in a magazine and considers and then gracefully falls to his knees.

Chris has seen bits and pieces of the older hunter's videos. He knows what Peter's planning on doing.

“Are – Are you sure?” he's trying to be considerate but the idea has him almost coming again.

“Shut up and unzip your jeans, Christopher.”

Turns out it's _way_ better than anything else ever. It also turns out that Peter likes doing it so much that he comes in his pants again.

Chris suspects it's has something to do with his inner wolf, but they don't talk about that, so he doesn't bring it up.

Instead, he pulls Peter from the ground and kisses him again. He tastes himself on Peter's tongue but it's not weird like he thought it would be.

“I'm going to marry you,” he declares fiercely once they've broken apart.

Peter snorts. “Boys can't marry boys. Marriage is for having kids. We can have sex together for the rest of our lives though.”

Chris shrugs. “It's a deal.”

They shake on it, and then kiss for good luck, and then each head to their separate homes.

-

Chris doesn't show up for school the next day, and Peter's forced to eat his Reese's alone.

It takes two solid weeks of no Chris for him to finally give up.

He spends a week alone in the preserve and vows to never care about anyone ever again.

 


	18. Fries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'it’s 2am and i’m drunk and i need some goddamn french fries right now so open your fucking door’ AU
> 
> Tags: little bit of Dub-Con, Masturbation, Fluff
> 
> Note: Apartment 'Verse

Peter wakes to a sharp pain in his chest, and swats at Evangeline, who's desperately clawing at him for some reason. She bites his hand and he reaches up and lifts the satin sleeping mask to eye the damage and then arches a brow as he sees her silently mewling.

Peter reaches up and tugs the noise cancelling headphones from his head, and then he hears it, the pounding on his door that's gone on for some time, if Evangeline's agitation is anything to judge by. He sighs and smooths her fur and then reaches for his robe, tucks it around his naked frame and ties it tight, and then heads to the door.

Peter's pissed by the time he gets the door open, even more so when his neighbor Chris basically falls through into his arms. Chris blinks bleary eyes up at Peter. “I need some french fries.”

Peter wrinkles up his nose, because Chris smells like he _bathed_ in whiskey, and half-carries him inside, depositing Chris at the kitchen table.

“I don't have french fries, Christopher. They're disgusting.”

“Blashphemy,” Chris slurs out, finger pointing in Peter's general direction. “They're the best.”

“How about a glass of water to start?” Peter grabs a plastic travel mug with a handle and fills it with chilled water, brings it back and settles it down in front of Chris.

Evangeline wanders in the room, hisses her displeasure at Chris and then haughtily curls up in the center of the couch and goes to sleep.

Chris eyes the water. “But, _french fries_.”

Peter puts his hand over his face. “Fine, Christopher, I'll go get you some french fries. Whatever gets me back to bed faster.”

“Bed,” Chris agrees, head down on his arms on the kitchen table.

-

When Peter gets back, Chris is not at the kitchen table, and Evangeline is not on the couch. Mind racing with some sort of scenario where the cat attacked Chris and he threw her out the window or something, Peter drops the bag of fries on the table and rushes around the apartment looking for them.

He finds them both in his bed, curled up together, Chris snoring, Evangline purring.

Peter is relieved that no mayhem has occurred, and ticked that they're taking up his bed. He muses over the conundrum for a few minutes, then shrugs and drops his robe, shoves them over and climbs in, it is _his_ bed after all.

He wakes up as the sun's coming up, to Chris' arm around his middle and the older man rubbing up against him, and he doesn't know where Chris' pants are, but that's definitely skin on skin, but before he co react in any way, Chris grunts and Peter feels a warm rush of wetness against his lower back. And then Chris rolls over and starts snoring again.

Peter's hard and aching now, and so he sighs and takes himself off to the shower. He cleans himself off, and then liberally soaps up his hand and wraps it around his cock, groaning as he imagines it to be Chris, pretends that his neighbor is in the shower with him, pressed up against Peter's back, maybe with a couple fingers inside him, just lightly teasing. Peter's other hand is plenty soapy to do just that, and he bites his lip as he comes against the shower wall, shuddering in the now-cold water as he rinses the soap away.

Shivering, Peter steps out and puts a pair of sweats and a soft v-neck on, and takes a couple blankets to his couch, making up a bed for himself there, falling asleep almost immediately.

-

Chris – and the french fries – are gone when he finally gets up, and Peter rolls his eyes and makes himself an espresso, grateful that it's Saturday and he doesn't have to go into work. He lounges around with Evangeline and watches the shows he's got saved on his DVR, but he can't stop thinking about Chris.

Almost as if summoned, there's a knock on his door, somewhat more sedate then last night, and Peter arches a brow as he sees Chris on the other side.

“Hello, Christopher,” he says quietly.

Chris hands him a bag of food. “I brought you dinner. Thanks for the fries last night. It was – ” Chris clears his throat and looks down. “It was the anniversary.”

He doesn't have to say anything more, Peter _knows_ , and he nods and steps back. “I'd say there's plenty here to share. Evangeline and I were just watching Supernatural. You a fan?”

Chris shakes his head as he steps inside. “I find that monster of the week stuff too unbelievable.”

Peter chuckles as he gets out plates. “I'm sure we can find something we all like to watch.”

Chris cranes his neck at the cat. “What's Evangeline's favorite?”

“Game of Thrones. She's a big fan of Dany.”

“That doesn't surprise me in the least.”

They settle down, eventually deciding on Criminal Minds, and if Peter ends up curled under Chris' arm, into the older man's side, and if maybe they spend the evening just snuggling together in front of the tv, well, there's no one to see except Evangeline, and she's keeping her opinions on the two of them to herself.

 


	19. Jail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don’t really know you but you were at that party last night and I have a tattoo of your name" au
> 
> Tags: Drugged Sex, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Dub-Con, Blow Jobs, Jail Sex

The first thing Peter registers is the throbbing in his head. “Ugh,” he manages, eyes watering copiously as he tries to open them, blinking a few times. His mouth is like cotton and his entire body hurts.

He vaguely recalls bits and pieces of a massive party last night, and maybe meeting a guy there? He reaches for his cell, groaning at the burning pain in his back, and the familiar, sore ache down below. There is a new picture in his phone, a selfie with himself and an older man and Peter thinks maybe that's the guy, but it's all real blurry.

With a sigh, Peter shrugs it off as yet another mistake in a long life of them, and heads into the shower. It's not until the blazing hot water hits his lower back, producing a surprised yelp, that Peter _notices_. He turns a bit to look and see if he's got a scrape or something, and his jaw drops when he sees a hint of what looks like black ink swirling across his lower back.

“Please tell me I didn't,” he says to the shower wall.

Turns out, he did.

Peter has a tattoo of someone's name in elegant cursive, right over his ass, that apparently saw some action – of which he recalls _nothing_. He lets his forehead hit the bathroom wall and then shakes his head, looks at it again in the mirror.

“Who the _fuck_ is Chris?”

-

Chris is sitting at the police station, shifting in his spot and trying to relieve the pressure of the cuffs rubbing against the rather large letter 'P' that's covering the inside of his right wrist. He'd apparently gotten a tattoo at some point last night, of which he has absolutely no knowledge. He'd woken up curled up in the backseat of his truck, with the police tapping at his window. Chris had just enough time to blinks down at the beautifully scrolled 'Peter' on his forearm, before they'd cuffed him and read him his rights. He's still not sure why he's been arrested but Chris has been here before and he's not stupid enough to cause any trouble. He just puts his head down and does what they ask of him, and waits to find out what's going on.

“Christopher Argent?”

Chris nods and then groans at the headache the movement incites.

“Heck of a party lat night, huh?”

“Honestly, Officer, I have no idea,” Chris grinds out, voice raspy. “Can't recall a thing. Think someone roofied me.”

The guy, Stilinski by his badge, flips open a file folder, Chris' rap sheet, he's sure. “Looks like you got a bit of a history with drugs, Mr. Argent.”

“My _adult_ record,” Chris says calmly, “says no such thing. Anything on my juvenile record is sealed – or ought to be. Also, I'd like my lawyer.”

“Oh, you're not under arrest, Mr. Argent, you're just a person of interest.”

“Then why am I in cuffs?”

“The arresting officer felt in danger when he saw your weapon.”

“That's licensed, Officer.”

Stilinski nods. “We're aware, Mr. Argent. So, did you put drugs in the alcohol at the gathering at Mr. Greenburg's house last night?”

“I want my lawyer,” Chris repeats, and the cop shrugs and sends him back to lockup, but leaves the cuffs on. Chris lays down on the bunk as best he can and closes his eyes. At least he can get a little shut eyes before they find him a lawyer.

-

“I don't understand,” Peter says dumbly to the plain clothes officer at his door. “Why would anyone want to question me?”

These sorts of things just don't happen to Peter. He works at a museum, he goes to the orchestra, he doesn't get drunk at parties, doesn't get tattoos, and _certainly_ doesn't get arrested by the police.

“You were at a party last night where someone was drugged, and then killed someone driving home.”

Peter closes his eyes and nods, lets the men walk him to an unmarked car and take him through the back door of the station, away from the reporters out front.

Talia is waiting for him. “Don't worry, Peter, I'm already on this. Don't say anything. Just go sit in the cell while I call Uncle Andrew.” She turns to the officer escorting Peter. “That's the nephew of Judge Andrew Hale, so you better make sure he's treated with kid gloves.”

The guy rolls his eyes at D.A. Talia Hale, but only behind her back, and he's especially careful, apologizing to Peter as he has to put him in a cell with another guy for the time being.

“He's cuffed, though,” the guy says to Peter, “so he can't bother ya none.”

Peter sighs as he sits down and the tattoo twinges.

“No fucking way,” the guy across from him says, and then laughs, a sharp bitter one of wry amusement. “Of all the jail cells in all the world, he has to walk into mine.”

Peter turns his gaze on the other guy, vicious retort dying on his lips as her recognizes those twinkling blue eyes. “No...” he breathes.

The guy sits up.

“Hello again, Peter,” he says, twisting so that he can show Peter the name on his arm. “Apparently I took quite a shine to you last night.”

Peter flushes and nods. “That must make you, Chris.”

“Oh, you got one too?” he says. “Show me.”

Something about the snap to his voice has Peter shamefacedly lifting the back of his shirt, sliding the hem of his jeans down and turning to show the older man.

“Oh, you got a tramp stamp just for me, baby,” Chris says, voice deep. “My name looks gorgeous on you.”

Peter turns back around, putting his clothes back in alignment, his eyes falling naturally to the prominent bulge in Chris' pants.

“Did I fuck you, sweetheart?” Chris asks, and Peter flushes bright red, which is answer enough. “Oh I wish I could remember that, pretty boy, remember sliding into you while tracing my name marked in your skin. I bet you have just the pretties little hole, I bet it swallowed my cock up so good.”

Peter can't help the tiny glance he darts at Chris' dick, but they guy catches it, and he croons softly at Peter.

“Come here, baby, see what you do to me? Come here and let me fuck your mouth.”

And Peter's given head before, he's no virgin, but not in this kind of place, not when people could possibly walk in and see, not with someone like _this_.

He tries to tell himself he's not even thinking about it, but his own cock is fattening in his pants, and Chris' eagle eyes spot that, and that fucking voice keeps talking.

“Oh you like that idea don't you, sweetheart? Want to get your mouth on me? Want to suck me off like this? C'mon, Peter, put that pretty mouth on my cock.”

And for some reason, maybe the drugs still running through his veins, Peter does, he slides to his knees in front of the cuffed man and reaches shaking hands for the zipper.

Chris breathes a sigh of relief when his aching cock is freed, and then another when Peter gently licks a stripe along the underside.

“Don't tease, now, baby, we got ten minutes tops,” and Chris scoots forward just as Peter pushes the blunt head past his lips. Chris breathes a soft 'yes' as his dick hits the back of Peter's throat, and Peter just grabs handfuls of Chris' jeans and hangs on as the older man fucks into his mouth, just uses Peter for his pleasure.

It's the hottest thing Peter can ever remember doing, and the front of his underwear is wet with precome by the time Chris finishes, biting back the shout he wants to make when he throbs between Peter's lips, fills the younger man mouth with his come.

And it's just in time, because Peter's only leaned back, wiping his mouth when the door at the end of the hall opens and a man come to get Peter out.

“You're free to go, Mr. Hale,” the guy says.

Peter looks at Chris.

“I'll find you,” Chris promises, and Peter can't repress a shiver as he follows the officer out, not sure if it's fear or excitement, but he thinks about the dark glint in those blue, blue eyes all the way home.

 


	20. Detectives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: DETECTIVE PARTNERS AU
> 
> Tags: Public Sex, Intercrural Sex, Public Sex, No Actual Detecting, Dub-Con

“Argent, get in here.”

Chris arches a brow as he steps into Finstock's office. “Yeah, boss?”

“Meet Special Agent Hale, your new partner.”

“A pleasure,” Peter purrs, rising and reaching for Chris' hand.

Chris blinks at Peter and then turns back to Finstock. “Are you _serious_ right now?”

“Orders from higher up, need to make nice with the Feds. Your partner is laid up, you take one for the team.” Finstock winces. “No offense, Hale.”

“None taken, Chief Finstock. I'm happy to be the one Detective Argent takes for the team.”

Chris realizes he's still holding onto Hale's hand, drops it like a hot potato and then turns and stalks out of the office, swearing under his breath.

They set up Peter at John's desk, and Chris goes to get them coffee, determined to make this work – somehow. He gets back to see Peter practically laying across John's desk, leaning to grab some off Chris' and his pants are just tight up against his ass, and he arches his back – and Chris nearly drops the coffee.

The incident puts him in an even fouler mood, and he's silent and taciturn for the rest of the day. When they finally get off shift, Peter casually asks if there's a good bar in the neighborhood, and Chris absently gives him the address of one.

It's not until after he's home, in the shower that he realizes which bar he'd given the Agent the address to. At first, Chris finds it amusing, but then he starts to feel bad.

It's not Peter's fault that Chris' partner got hurt, or that he got stuck with Chris. So, reluctantly, he gets dressed in a pair of jeans and his favorite old leather jacket, and heads to the gay bar on the corner, to save Peter Hale from possible embarrassment.

-

Apparently, he needn't have bothered. It seems Hale's found this particular bar to his liking, if what he's doing against the back wall with one of the other patrons is any example.

For the second time that day, Peter Hale puts Chris is a black mood, but he's not at the station anymore, and Chris decides he's not going to be nice about it this time. He sets his jaw and storms over to the back, grabs the shoulder of the guy rubbing off on Peter and growls. “This one's mine.”

The man starts to protest, then he must see something in Chris' eyes because he backs off with a couple muttered curses, tucking his dick away.

Peter turns his head and sees Chris, his eyes narrow and he starts to push back off the wall, to reach for the waistband of his jeans. But Chris slams his back hard against the surface his forearm across the back of Peter's neck.

“I came here to save you, Hale,” Chris says as his free hand unbuckles his belt,” because I gave you the wrong address, but apparently this is your kind of club.” He starts jacking his cock in his hand while he growls into Peter's ear. “You're just a slut aren't you? Bet you'd take any cock in here.”

Peter hasn't reacted to anything Chris has done so far, maybe in shock, but he gives a definite jerk when Chris says that and the older man chuckles low against his ear.

“Oh you like that, don't you Peter, like the idea of being fucked here in the open? Maybe by everyone in this club?”

He can't hear Peter's low moan over the music, but it thrums through the Agent's body, and Chris slides his dick in between Peter's thighs where the other man had been fucking him, not thinking too hard about where the slick wetness might have come from.

Chris presses Peter hard up against the wall, leaving just enough room that his hand can curl around Peter's dick, already slippery with precome. He keeps his arm across Peter's neck and starts thrusting his hips hard. The movement pushes Peter's cock through his hand, and Peter shudders in his grasp.

“That's it Hale,” Chris murmurs in his ear, “Just stand there and take it.”

And Peter does, hands scrabbling at the wall as Chris fucks through his thighs, cock nudging along the bottom of Peter's balls as he does so, forcing Peter's dick through Chris' hand, and all the while Chris is growling in Peter's ear, calling him a slut, among other things, but it's not until Chris wonders aloud what their coworkers would say if they caught him being fucked like this, that Peter suddenly tightens up and then comes, spurting over Chris' hand and the wall in front of them.

The sudden squeeze of Peter's thighs is enough to set Chris off as well, and he strokes Peter gently as he spills into the space between Peter's legs, wiping his dick off with the hem of Peter's ridiculous v-neck, and then tucks himself away.

Peter grimaces as he pulls his things up, squirming with the now cold and wet feeling clothing, and Chris finally backs off, lets him go and takes a step back, breathing heavily.

Peter turns around and leans against the wall, and for the briefest of seconds, Chris feels like an asshole, and then Peter smirks slowly and looks up at Chris with those amused blue eyes.

“This one's mine? I didn't know you were the caveman type, Argent.”

And Chris is annoyed all over again.

“Is there nothing that will shut that god damned fucking _mouth_ of yours, Hale?”

Peter honest-to-god laughs. “There's one thing, but you're going to have to take me home for that.”

Chris sets his jaw, wraps his hand around the back of Peter's neck and propels him towards the door. “The first thing you are doing is getting a fucking shower.”

“Oh good,” Peter purrs, “I love fucking in the shower.”

Chris rolls his eyes and slaps Peter on the ass. “ _Go_.”

Peter does, but it's with a smirk, and a promise in his eyes.

 _That one's going to be nothing but trouble_ , Chris thinks, and then sighs and follows Peter home.

 


	21. Motel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: manager at a no-tell motel and frequent room renter AU (bonus points: assumed they’re a sex worker AU)
> 
> Tags: Rape, Bondage, Dark Chris, Serial Killer Peter, Spanking

The bell over the door rings and Chris glances up from the John Wayne Western playing on his tiny little tv, exhales the lungful of smoke and gives the guy a nod.

“Welcome back, Mr. Hale. Your usual room is ready, just sign in, key's on the hook.”

Chris doesn't ask too many questions of his guests, but he notices things, and the fact that this guy's here at least once a month – and that his jean are way too tight, and the v-neck he's wearing is positively _obscene_ – tells Chris all he needs to know about Peter Hale.

He makes sure the room gets a thorough scrubbing after Hale's visits, of course, but never says anything to him about it. One of the few regulars who always pays their bills on time – and in cash.

Chris waits til Hale's headed back out the door before he lifts his gaze from the tv, lets himself have a good long look at that ass. Too bad you have to pay for that, because it's fucking perfect and Chris has an entire volume of fantasies involving doing things to that ass.

Unfortunately, whatever Peter officially calls what he does, it's of the high priced nature, way out of Chris' league. The gentlemen that Chris has seen the guy with, three separate ones, have been in extremely expensive suits and driving the kind of cars that Chris has only seen in movies.

With a sigh, he turns back to his movie.

Three hours later, Chris gets a noise complaint and when he looks up the room for the police, he sees that it's Peter's room. He can guess what's going on in there, and his dick gives a little twitch. Usually he just calls the cops and sends them in – in these kinds of places, there's a real danger of getting hurt – but this might be his only chance to see what Peter's got, so he grabs his keyring and tucks his pistol in the back of his waistband and heads on down.

There's only silence now, so Chris figures it's all over, but maybe he can catch a glimpse, so he quietly pulls the key out and silently turns it in the lock.

He is not even close to being prepared for what he sees.

Peter's naked, but Chris doesn't even have a chance to appreciate it, because there's a dead guy on the floor in front of him, and Hale is wrapping him in thick plastic.

“I thought you were a hooker,” is all he can say dumbly as Peter looks up, eyes wide.

Peter furrows a brow and then shakes his head with a snort. “Great, someone else I have to kill.”

Chris holds up his hand. “No need for that, man, I'm no narc. Did I say anything when I thought you were bringing johns here?”

Peter considers him for a minute. “Grab the duct tape then.”

“There's no way I'm helping you – for free.” Chris crosses his arms, some of his normal equanimity returning.

“What do you want?” Peter sits back on his haunches.

Chris finally takes the time to look Peter over, the flexing thighs and blood spattered skin.

“You.”

Peter's eyes dart like he's considering something, but he freezes when Chris pulls out his gun. “On the bed, now.”

“Surely you would prefer me to clean up a bit,” Peter says, rising easily from his crouch, “Let me just –”

The sound of the hammer being pulled back echoes loud in the room.

“Bed, Hale.”

Chris does get the duct tape and tape the dead man securely in the plastic – right after he duct tapes Peter to the bed, wearing a pair of gloves that he took from the box in the supply closet. Chris Argent isn't stupid.

He tears off a pillowcase and shoves it in Peter's mouth to stop the flow of threats and curses. “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Peter squirms in place and Chris admires his handiwork, because he'd been forced to improvise on his fantasy, but Peter Hale is held securely in place, legs spread wide open, and that's all Chris needs.

He carefully takes all his clothes off and slides them into a large plastic bag by the door. Then Chris gets the small bottle of complimentary lotion from the bathroom counter and kneels behind Peter's thighs.

He spends some time smacking that perfect ass, marking it all pretty and pink, but he uses the hairbrush from Peter's suitcase rather than his hand, and then Peter's own leather belt to make gorgeous red stripes. Chris wants to sink his teeth into that enticing flesh, but he knows the cops can match dental records, so he refrains. But he's sure to tell Peter about it, every fantasy he's had of the man over the months that he's been coming to Chris' motel, as he's slicking up his gloved fingers with the lotion. He presses them into Peter's tight furled little hole, groaning aloud at how it squeezes around him, and chuckles at the noises that Peter makes below him.

Chris just gives Peter a cursory stretch, he just wants him to be open enough to take his dick. He pulls the gloves off and tosses them onto the bedside table, rolls a fresh pair on, and then pulls a condom free, sighing softly as he puts it on.

“It's too bad I've got to do this, Peter, because I want to fuck you bare, I want to fill you with my come until you're fat with it, cover you in me everywhere.”

Peter makes another noise as Chris shifts but it, like the others, is completely ignored and Chris slowly pushes the blunt head of his cock into the clenching ring of muscle. “Oh Peter,” he says reverently, “this is even better than I imagined.” Chris has to stop once he's fully seated inside the killer and takes a deep breath, then he wraps gloved hands around Peter's hips and starts fucking into the bound man hard.

Chris is lost in a haze of pleasure, lips overflowing with words telling Peter how perfect he is, how much he wishes he could do this every day, how he wants to fuck Peter so hard he won't be able to sit down for a week.

Chris draws it out as long as he can, because he knows there's not going to be another chance, ever, but eventually he feels that familiar hot pressure in his gut and he lets go, holding Peter tightly as he pulses inside him, humping slowly through the aftershocks before he pulls out.

“Baby,” he tells Peter, “that was the best fuck I ever had.”

He pats Peter's flank once and then steps back, and only then notices that Peter's dick is hard and leaking beneath him.

“Oh,” he breathes, “looks like you enjoyed it too.”

Chris reaches beneath Peter, smirking at the killer's head shaking and objections and determinedly brings Peter off, praising him softly when he's spilled all over Chris glove.

“Such a good boy for me,” Chris murmurs, “I'm going to miss you.”

Peter's yelling into the gag, but Chris just smooths the clean hand through his hair gently.

He takes his time cleaning up, first a shower for himself, and then carefully gathering up all his evidence, gloves and used condoms and secures them in a plastic bag.

Chris then gently – but thoroughly – cleans Peter up, putting those wipes in the plastic bag as well. He unwraps the dead guy just enough to slide one of the same condoms onto the guy's limp dick. It doesn't hold well, but he thinks it's enough to give the locals the right idea.

He wipes down every surface he can think of, and bleaches the shower and then gives Peter a soft kiss goodbye on his forehead.

-

Chris waits until the guy who called in the noise complaint has checked out before he goes to Peter's room and “discovers” the two men in there. He leaves the door wide open as he waits for the police, made sure people saw him heading for the room, and just stands there enjoying the view until the cops gets there.

Once they free Peter's mouth from the duct tape, he immediately start spewing threats at Chris. The motel manager manages to look scared, and one of the cops claps him on the shoulder.

“We'll protect you, Chris, don't worry.”

-

Turns out Peter is an international hitman and Chris' testimony is invaluable to putting the man in prison. It's valuable enough to get Chris into Witness protection and get him a new life up in Seattle. He has three years of comfort and ease in his new life until he opens his door one day to see Peter on his doorstep.

“Hello, Christopher. Remember me?”


	22. Same Old Lang Syne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: running into an ex-lover AU
> 
> Tags: Angst
> 
> Note: Continuation of[Perfect Combinations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/6170237)
> 
> Inspiration: [Same Old Lang Syne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIGiX-vc6M8)

Peter's shopping for a birthday present for Derek when he catches the barest hint of a familiar scent, enough to tantalize his memory, tease at something back in the recesses of his mind, but it's not until he follows it around the corner that he realizes who the scent belongs to.

Peter's torn between turning tail and running, and attaching himself to the man in front of him, currently frowning at a rack of jewelry. He can't decide what to do, and so he's stuck in place, just _looking_.

Until the older man absently takes a step his way, turns and sees Peter. The wolf's eyes flare wide open, almost in panic, and then his gut churns as that deep blue gaze meets his.

“Hello, Christopher,” he manages, affecting surprise.

“Peter,” Chris grunts, but his heart skips a couple beats and his pupils flare slightly, and Peter feels better knowing he's not the only one having a strong reaction here. Chris takes an aborted step toward him, and Peter forgets how to breathe, and then he steps forward – and it's not clear who's closed the distance, but they're hugging, Peter fitting into place in Chris' arms like he's still that high schooler who had fallen for an older boy.

It's not long enough before Chris is pulling back, and Peter wants to cling, wants to whine, wants to bury himself in Chris' scent. But he's not the boy he once was, and he lets go just as quickly. Too quickly, because he knocks Chris' wallet from his hand, and it falls open, a picture fluttering to the floor.

Peter can't help but glance at it, catching a brief flash of Chris in a tux, arm wrapped around a woman in a dress, holding a bouquet. He bites back everything he wants to say and simply arches a brow as he scoops it up and hands it back.

Something he can't define flashes in Chris' eyes and he sets his jaw and lifts his chin defensively. “Victoria. My wife.”

Peter nods, a tiny piece of his heart shattering, though he doesn't show it.

“She involved in the family business?”

Chris gives another short nod, eyes drinking in the sight of Peer and the wolf wonders what Chris thinks of him now. He's no longer skinny – or as pretty – as he once was, now he's a muscled warrior, a full beta of the pack.

The hunter's eyes glance to the clothes over Peter's arm. “Done shopping?”

Peter looks down at the forgotten things in his hands, and nods. “For today.”

“Grab a beer with me.”

Peter's eyes flick up to Chris, and after far too long a hesitation, he nods once. Chris accompanies him to the register in silence, and then follows Peter through the door. Peter hesitates and then leads the hunter to his car and throws his bags in the back and turns to face Chris.

“I'm not sure what's open on Christmas Eve.”

Turns out, nothing, but Chris has Peter pull over at a convenience store and he grabs a six pack and they head back to the mall parking lot, where Chris pulls down the tailgate of his truck and they hop up on it.

The first beer is quiet, both of them lost in thought, Peter mostly thinking about how gorgeous Chris looks. He turns to see Chris staring at him, and he's blurting it out before he can grasp onto his hard-won self-control. “The years have been good to you,” he says softly, almost reverently. “Your eyes is still just as blue.” He realizes how stupid it sounds as soon as he says it, and turns away.

Chris is silent, except for a slightly accelerated heartbeat. He finishes his beer and grabs another and the snick of it opening is loud in their silence.

“The pack seems to be doing well,” he says at last and Peter nods.

Another long silence.

“So, married.” Peter can't not ask.

“Yeah,” Chris grunts. “You?”

Peter snorts in derision. “Not likely. Wolves – ” and there he cuts off, not willing to reveal anything further. But Chris knows.

“ – mate for life,” he finishes and then eyes Peter. The wolf can't smell his emotions beyond the mask of wolfsbane and gun oil and old leather, and the blue eyes are unreadable. “Still, Peter?”

Peter shrugs a shoulder and turns away, grabs himself another beer and cracks it open. He drinks half of it before he can brings himself to ask the question that's at the forefront of his mind.

“Do you love her?”

Chris flinches ever so slightly, just a hint of it, but Peter's paying close attention.

“I love her,” he says steadily, and his heart gives no trace of a lie. “I respect her.” Chris continues, “and we have a strong, solid marriage.” Truth, all of it, and Peter feels his throat close up and he has to shut his eyes and swallow hard.

They finish the six pack in silence as a few tiny snowflakes begin to drift down from the sky. Peter wants to ask why Chris left, but he already knows, figured it out years ago that his father had pulled him for a hunt. He wants to ask Chris why he didn't find some way to say goodbye, but Peter knows the answer to that one as well, knows about the hunting life, knew before he went and fell for Chris. He still wants to demand the answers, and he's angry with himself for it.

When Peter's drained the last drop, he slides from the tailgate and looks up at Chris, trying to think of something to say but failing. Chris follows him off, and Peter thinks maybe there's another hug in the offing, but Chris' lips are hot on his, insistent and demanding and Peter can't help but open up for it, same as he always as. A heat coils in his gut as Chris' calloused hand wraps around the back of Peter' neck, then other around his waist.

Peter feels the prick of his claws piercing into his clenched fists, and he hasn't lost control like that in _years_ but one kiss from Chris and it's shattered.

Chris slowly ends the kiss and pulls away, and Peter blinks, looks up into those eyes as Chris cups his face and then leans in to press his lips to Peter's forehead. The wolf feels like he's at sea without an anchor, adrift as Chris steps back, takes his warmth with him and leaves Peter cold and alone.

The hunter turns away, doesn't look back as he climbs into the front seat of his truck and starts it up.

Peter stand there in the parking lot and watches Chris drive away, watches as the light flakes of snow turns into a cold drizzle of rain, watches until the truck has vanished, taking his heart along with it.

 


	23. Fluffy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: i found your dog wondering the streets so i decided to come and return him AU
> 
> Tags: Public Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Marking

Peter's whistling as he walks down the city street, arms full of shopping bags. He ducks out of the way of a group of tourists taking up the whole sidewalk, and then hears a sniffling whine behind him.

Gingerly he peeks behind a dumpster to find a very familiar dog huddled there, usually pristine coat muddy and tangled.

“Hey there, Fluffy,” Peter murmurs, “How on earth did you get all the way down here?”

An equally familiar yowl splits the air behind him and Peter takes a moment to bury his face in his hands.

“Dammit, Evangeline,” he says as he turns around and narrows his eyes at the cat, who's daintily licking a paw, without one drop of the mud covering the dog upon her. “I thought we'd gotten past this.” He fixes her with a glare that doesn't faze her in the least and then hops down from her perch to press up against Peter's legs, purring all the while.

Fluffy manages a bit of a growl, but it's interrupted by a sneeze. Peter's suddenly concerned that Chris' dog might get sick, and it would be all his damned cat's fault.

With a sigh, he quickly rearranges his bags to make one empty and scoops Fluffy into the cloth bag. He eyes Evangeline who is sitting with her back to him, ignoring the whole process.

“You can get yourself home,” he scolds her. She flicks an ear and tilts her head and doesn't move.

Peter rolls his eyes and starts off, carrying the dog in his arms. Evangeline follows.

Peter feels like the pied piper as he walks down the street, avoiding looking at people as he wanders along with a dog in his arms and a cat on his heels.

Peter catches sight of a pet washing shop and stops cold, turns on his heel and goes right in. He asks the woman if they take walk-ins, and in no time, Fluffy is being pampered and Evangeline is watching the process from the front counter where the woman there is cooing over her.

“There you go, Fluffy,” the pet stylist says when she brings the dog back to Peter, accessorized with pink sparkly clips and a new collar. “She's all ready, sir.”

Peter frowns. “She? I thought it was a boy...”

The lady shakes her head with a smile. “'Fraid not, sir. Fluffy's in heat. You'll need these.” She hands Peter a pile of thick white cloths, and he pays the bill, a bit confused, but he takes the woman's word as fact.

The three of them finally head home, and Peter locks up the damned cat and puts his things away before taking Fluffy downstairs to Chris' apartment on her new leash.

When Peter knocks on Chris' door, he hears barking from inside, and slowly looks down at the dog as she perks up at the noise.

“You're...not Fluffy, are you?”

She wags her tail and then tugs on the leash, darting in as Chris opens the door. He arches a brow at her and then at Peter.

“Do I want to know why you have a dog that matches mine?”

Peter half-shrugs and tells the truth – mostly. “Found her on the street, thought you might know who owns her.”

Chris turns to eye the female dog once more, this time with a critical eye, but then his face turns red and he covers his eyes. “Dammit, Peter.”

Peter cranes his neck to see what the dogs are doing and can't help but huff a laugh. “Well, they'll be occupied for a while.”

Chris shakes his head with a sigh. “We'll take them to the vet tomorrow. She looks like a purebred which means that she should have a chip. You – ” He pokes a finger into Peter's chest, “ – get to explain how she got pregnant to her owner.”

Peter narrows his eyes, but before he can argue with Chris, the older man is stepping from his apartment and locking the door behind him.

“I am not staying in there with that going on,” he grumbles. “And I was just about to go get dinner. Hungry?”

Peter muses. “How about I cook you dinner, as a sort of apology?”

Chris nods after a moment. “Deal.”

The elevator is behind held open by two people talking, so they take the stairs, Peter leading the way, but two floors up, Chris stops him on the landing.

“Christopher?” Peter furrows a brow.

Chris doesn't answer, just reaches down and unbuttons Peter's jeans and tugs the zipper down. Peter arches a brow, but whatever he was going to say vanishes from his mind as Chris turns him and shoves him up against the wall. Peter's not really sure where this is going but so far he's on board, so he just lets Chris tug the jeans down until they're cupping his ass.

Peter hears the double thump of Chris' knees hitting the floor and he closes his eyes, because if what he _thinks_ is about to happen –

It is. Chris grabs the two globes of his ass with those large hands, pulls them apart and swipes his tongue along between them. Peter's hands scrabble at the wall.

“I'm sick of having to stare at that ass in those tight jeans,” Chris says, deep voice thrumming against Peter's skin. “Sick of looking and thinking of all the things I want to do to it.”

He sinks his teeth into the fleshy part of Peter's ass, making the other man yelp before Peter quickly bites down on his fist.

“Shh,” Chris says, “Don't want everyone to see you like this, do you?”

He doesn't wait for an answer, just dives back in, sliding his tongue along that sensitive pucker over and over again while Peter tries not to make any noise, but when Chris rolls his tongue and presses it inside Peter, he can't help the low moan that rumbles in his throat. Chris does that a few more times, then withdraws, licking two fingers and teasing Peter's hole with them as his free hand reaches around to stroke Peter's half-hard cock to full mast. And then Chris puts his mouth on Peter's left ass cheek, sucks firmly, marking it up. He repeats it elsewhere once he's satisfied with the vivid bruise left in the skin.

Meanwhile, he's fucking Peter with the fingers now, not deep, just teasing the tips in and out and swirling them around the rim, and continuing to stroke Peter off, but it's not until he hears a door above them open and close – and the thought of someone seeing him like this – that he falls over the edge and comes in Chris' hand, biting down on his own so hard he draws blood.

“There's my good boy,” Chris says, patting Peter's ass once, then helps him put his clothing back into place. Peter's still breathing hard when the lady comes down the stairs and nods a polite greeting to both of them.

“Peter, Chris,” she says, and smiles before she moves along.

“Melissa,” they say in unison and then wait for her to disappear through the bottom door before even attempting to move.

Chris tugs the handkerchief from Peter's back pocket and cleans himself up as best he can and then tilts his head, studies Peter.

“Shower first, then dinner.”

Peter can only nod dumbly and lead the way back to his apartment.


	24. Mouthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter
> 
> Tags: Dubious Consent, Sex Toys, Orgasm Denial, D/s, Bondage, Whipping, Gags, Daddy Kink, No Actual Detecting
> 
> Note: [Detective 'Verse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/6209321)

“Aaand, here comes Captain Cupcake,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Chris has to turn his sudden laugh into a cough.

The movement makes the zipper of his jeans scrape against his oversensitive dick, and he hisses under his breath.

Peter just gives him a wink, all smug and satisfied after being pinned up against the break-room wall not five minutes ago, Chris fucking him hard and fast. They'd barely gotten their pants on before the morning meeting and Chris had to use a handful of those ubiquitous brown paper towels to clean up before shoving his cock back in his pants.

Damn things were made of sandpaper.

“Get that cough looked at, Argent,” the Captain barks and Chris nods earnestly, biting his lip so he doesn't snicker at the oblivious man.

(Finstock'd somehow left his intercom on earlier and the entire station overheard him on the phone telling someone named Greenberg to call him 'Cupcake'.)

Finstock starts the briefing and immediately mispronounces something, which Peter pounces on gleefully and Chris tries really hard to not laugh at the Special Agent, but he's got a wicked sense of humor and apparently a mind on overdrive because he manages to keep up a running commentary that is less than flattering to every single person who speaks.

Chris is red-faced from the coughing to hide the snickers by the time the meeting ends, and Finstock sends him home for the day to rest.

He takes Peter with him.

Peter's all smirking and amused with himself right up until they get inside and Chris wraps a hand around the back of the Special Agent's neck and slams him into the back of the door.

“That fucking mouth of yours need to be occupied,” Chris growls low into Peter ear.

“Gonna fuck my face, Christopher?” Peter murmurs, still smug, but that slips when Chris chuckles and answers the question.

“Oh no, Peter, you'd like that too much.” Chris puts a hand between Peter shoulder blades and mashes him into the door even more. “Stay.”

Peter sets his jaw, but stays where he is – out of sheer curiosity of course.

He hears Chris go up the stairs and then there's a long silence before Chris returns that makes Peter just the tiniest bit anxious.

Chris doesn't say a word, just reaches around and starts unbuttoning Peter's dress shirt and Peter's absolutely okay with this but he can't resist a little jab. “Thought you were gonna shut me, Christopher. This won't do it.”

Chris doesn't respond until Peter's chest and torso are bard of coverings, then he wrenches Peter's arms behind him suddenly, cuffing them at the small of his back.

“Well, well, Christopher, how kinky of you, I had no idea you were into – ” He cuts off as a fistful of his hair is tugged back, baring his throat and he has just enough time to register what Chris is holding in his other hand before the dildo is being shoved into his mouth, straps securing it into a gag.

Chris breathes a faux sigh of relief. “ _Finally_.”

He continues to strip Peter down and then turns the younger man around. He's glaring daggers at Chris,but he's not actively squirming, and his dick's already half-hard.

Chris grins. “You were a bad boy today, Peter, and Daddy's gonna have to punish you.”

He's close enough to see Peter's pupils flare and his cock twitch, and that's all Chris needs. He wraps his hand around the back of Peter's neck and directs him to kneel in front of the couch.

Once Chris is comfortable he pats his lap invitingly. Peter narrows his eyes but struggles to his feet and – with no small amount of difficulty – drapes himself across Chris' lap.

Chris strokes a hand through Peter's hair. “Good boy.”

Then he raises the thin cylinder in his hand up and and brings it down as hard as he can across the pert globes of Peter's ass.

Peter jerks and makes a noise that Chris would categorize as a squeal were it not muffled. “Aw, did that hurt, baby boy?” Chris mocks in false sympathy. “Just remember, you earned this with your mouth.”

He continues for seven strikes total – one for each smart comment Peter muttered in the meeting – and then tosses the crop to the side.

“Lay down across the coffee-table with your ass facing me,” Chris orders, and it takes him a minute, but Peter does so, automatically spreads his thighs and curves his ass upwards, and Chris can see that the younger man is fully erect now. He can't resist reaches a hand between Peter's legs and gently stroking a finger along the underside of that thick cock.

“I think maybe you enjoyed your punishment a bit too much, Peter,” he murmurs, smirking as Peter ducks his head to hide the flush.

Chris grabs a jar of cream from the side and gently starts rubbing it over Peter's welts, watching as Peter stiffens and then melts into the ministrations, and if he was a cat, he'd be purring by the time Chris is done.

Chris sets that down and grabs the lube, slicking up a finger and teasing it around Peter's hole a minute before pushing it in, ignoring the soft moan that comes from behind Peter's gag. Chris quickly and efficienlty gets Peter's hole all sloppy slick, and then picks up one of the other toys that he'd brought downstairs with him.

He slicks that up too and then slides it into Peter, fucking him with it a little bit, then pushes it all the way in, slides it until the tip is resting right up against a certain bundle of nerves, and then Chris leans back and clicks the remote.

Peter jerks upon the table and moans loud into the gag as the thing inside him vibrates right up against his prostate, and his hips roll automatically, seeking friction, but there's none to be had and he ends up just fucking into the open air under the table.

Chris chuckles. “Oh no, Peter, you haven't come even close to earning the right to come yet.”

Chris puts his feet up on the table next to Peter and flips the baseball game on, cracks open the beer he'd grabbed for himself and relaxes, planning to thoroughly enjoy his day off.

 


	25. LotR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Neighbour who’s way too enthuisiastic about LOTR soundtracks au
> 
> Tags: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Somnophilia, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs
> 
> Note: Apartment 'Verse

The landlord is out of town on vacation which means that Chris is the one taking all of the calls. And not one is a maintenance emergency. There's just one complaint after another, and Chris is extremely tired of the old people in his building. He's heard from every single one of them so far, and he's endlessly glad he doesn't have to do this on a daily basis.

They're all different things, the water pressure, the weird smell in the stairway, the old man who thinks Melissa is a drug dealer because of her odd hours, the old lady who calls three times to complain about the music her neighbor is blasting.

Chris can't do anything about the water pressure, he gives the guy the number to the Water Commission, promises to bleach the stairwell and see if that helps.

He reassures the old man that Melissa is a nurse over his objections about _those kind of people_ and his demands that the apartments be searched for the twelve others she must be hiding in there. Then he accidentally loses the work order for the guy's hot water heater.

The music thing, though, he'd better go check out, and so Chris sighs and gets out of his comfy pajamas and gets dressed, heads upstairs, and then looks down to check the room number, and then closes his eyes when he recognizes it.

Peter. Of course.

Chris steps out of the stairwell and he can already hear the strains of the oboe, which only gets louder as he strides towards the younger man's apartment. He knocks twice, but not very loudly, deems it enough, and then uses his key to let himself in.

The music is incredibly loud in here, but it's not until he recognizes the voice in it that he realizes that Peter is actually watching one of the movies.

All of the movies apparently.

The first four are in a stack on Peter's side table, and Chris recognizes the one playing now before he steps around to see Peter snoring on the couch. He must have been marathoning them before he passed out.

Chris tugs the blanket off Peter and then both brows lofts, because Peter has on a perfect replica of Thorin's leather tunic, complete with the fur overlay.

“Fancy yourself a dwarf prince, do you?” Chris murmurs in amusement, and then turns the movie down to an acceptable level of noise. He sets the remote down, turns his phone to vibrate and then ever so gently, he moves the tunic up until Peter's fully revealed – _of course_ he's not wearing anything underneath.

Chris idly strokes Peter's flaccid cock, considering what he wants to do to the sleeping man. The cock stirs in his hand and so he leans in and lightly laves his tongue over the thick head, and along the slit, before glancing up at Peter's face. He doesn't react in the least.

Chris continues then, just letting himself taste Peter, licking him everywhere, even lifting the other man's leg to hook over the back of the couch in order to spread Peter's thighs wide open. The snores continue.

Chris flickers his tongue over the furled pucker beneath, then slides across it, over and over, getting it sloppy with his spit before pushing his tongue in just a little bit. The ring of muscle is tight and he can barely force it in, but Chris keeps at it, and before too long, it's loose enough that he can fuck his tongue into it over and over.

His hand keeps on moving along Peter's dick, which is now leaking precome that helps lubricate the way.

Chris pulls back after a while and wiggles one finger into Peter, twisting and searching until he feels a plump little bundle of nerves, and then he adds another finger. He massages Peter's prostate while he jacks the sleeping man off, and watches Peter's face carefully.

Peter's face flushes slightly and his breath hitches a few times, but he doesn't stir other than than, and Chris feels safe enough to lower his mouth onto Peter once more and taste him, leans in until his throat is full of Peter's cock, repeats that until the salty bitterness of Peter's come bursts across his tongue. Chris swallows down every last drop, suckles at Peter's cock and rubs inside the sleeping man until he's emptied out, wrung dry, and a tiny whimper escapes from him.

Chris starts guiltily, having briefly forgotten that Peter was asleep. His gaze darts up as he pulls away and licks his lips, and there's the tiniest furrow of Peter's brows, and so Chris ever so gently pulls away.

He pads lightly into the bathroom, wincing as his rock hard dick presses against the zip of his jeans. Chris washes his face and hands, and then returns to Peter, lets his eyes travel over the splayed out figure on the couch.

He turns around goes into Peter's bedroom, grabs a condom from the drawer where the other man keeps them and then returns to the living room. Chris tugs his shirt off and wriggles out of his jeans, breathing a sigh of relief as his cock is freed.

Carefully he settles onto the couch, rolling the condom on as he watches Peter's once again peaceful face. Chris slowly slides his cock into Peter's still loose and sloppy hole, inch by inch until his balls are resting against Peter's ass.

He can't fuck peter hard and fast like he wants to without waking Peter up, and Chris is forced to go slow, agonizingly slowly, and he's sweating by the time he feels that warmth is his gut. Only then does he risk a few faster, harder thrusts, watching as Peter's brow furrows again, and he makes a tiny noise.

It's the thought of Peter waking up to Chris like this that makes his orgasm slam into him, and he can barely hold back the strangle cry as he shudders and comes, fists curled tightly into themselves so that he doesn't wrap them around Peter.

Chris gasps softly as he pulls out of Peter, gingerly slipping the condom off and tying it in a knot. He sets it on the coffee-table while he goes to clean himself up once more.

When he's all put back together and dressed, Chris carefully rearranges Peter's limbs back to the way they were when Chris had come into the apartment. Then he puts the condom in his toolbag, and leaves, locking the door behind him.

 


	26. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'so YOU'RE the douchebag who keeps mowing their lawn while i'm trying to sleep' AU

Peter Hale has sensitive hearing. He always has. When he was younger, living with his older sister and her multitude of offspring, he'd had noise canceling headphones, plus music going on in the background. And when it had come time for him to move out, Peter had searched and searched for the quietest neighborhood he could find. And for the last three years, it's been bliss.

And then last week, some asshole had gotten up at seven am on a Saturday. Seven am, the lawnmower starts. And the dick doesn't just mow the lawn, now, he's gotta get out the weed-whacker and edge around his entire fucking house. Peter had tried very hard to just ignore it last week, but in vain, and by the time he'd worked himself into a fury to confront whoever it was, the sound had stopped and Peter hadn't caught him.

Today though, Peter's going to give that asshole a piece of his mind. Because it seems that the noise canceling headphones he'd dug up, don't work as well when it comes to lawn mowers, and now Peter's up and awake at seven am on a Saturday again.

With a groan he shoves his covers off, after trying very hard to ignore the noise, and he's so pissed that he doesn't bother to get dressed, or even grab his robe, Peter just stalks outside, looking for the source of the noise.

Two doors down and across the street, it's coming from and Peter stomps that way, ignoring the judgmental gaze of Mrs. Johnson who is having her coffee at her picture window, obviously disapproving of a man in nothing but pajama pants wandering through her sight-line.

Peter gets about five steps into the yard – and stops dead. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting but this, this was not it.

While this guy may be older than Peter, (judging by the salt and pepper hair), he's definitely in better shape, and Peter starts to feel a bit self-conscious about the tiny pudge he's growing around his middle.

Lawnmower guy is nothing but lean, corded muscle – and he's got nothing on but a pair of low-slung jeans, so Peter's got plenty of it to see. And those jeans cup what's probably one of the world most perfect asses and the things Peter suddenly wants to do to that ass are probably things that he shoulder be thinking about in the thin flannel of pajamas, because things downstairs start stirring.

So, Peter's just standing there like a dumbass, staring at this guy's gorgeous jean covered ass, when Lawnmower guy turns around, and of course he's gorgeous. Of fucking course, that beard and those eyes and his, fuck, everything.

The guy kills the mower and flashes a smile at Peter, that makes his knees weak, and then says sympathetically. “I'm sorry, did I wake you?”

Aaand now Peter's suddenly conscious that he's in his pajamas, and his hair's probably awry and he's sure he's got morning breath, and probably dried drool somewhere.

Lawnmower Guy continues, “I hate to do this so early, but it's really my only free time on Saturday. I coach a little league softball team at ten and then I volunteer at a soup kitchen in the evening.”

Really? The guy's built, gorgeous, and a fucking saint? Peter suddenly wonders if he's still dreaming.

“Name's Chris,” Lawnmower Guy says, holding out his hand, and Peter automatically slides his hand in the larger one, totally not thinking about that calloused palm around his, well, other things.

“Peter,” he manages, croaks out really, voice still sleep rough. “You new to the neighborhood?”

“Oh, I don't live here,” Chris chuckles, “this is my aunt's house. She's laid up right now, so I offered to do chores for her in her free time.”

Peter wants to wreck Saint Christopher in the worst way, and he's totally about to sprout what would be a very obvious erection, so he tugs his hand free of Chris' and steps back, thinking about vast expanses of snow and brussel sprouts and other assorted not sexy at all things.

“Ah, well, I suppose I can get up early a few Saturday mornings in that case,” Peter finds himself saying, shocking himself really, because Peter doesn't do things like that.

As he wanders back through his front door, he shakes his head, blames it on the lack of sleep and just makes a vow to go to bed earlier for a few Friday nights.

Peter decides to jump into the shower to wake himself up, but as he's washing, he can't help but think of the sweat glistening on the planes of Saint Christopher's back, or the curve of those jeans, or those blue, blue eyes and well, Peter's only human.

So, he curls one soap slick hand around his dick, works a couple fingers into his ass, and thinks about burying his face int Chris' neck, about spending forever rimming him, about swallowing down that cock, about wrecking him, until he comes apart in Peter's hands, and then about laying Chris down on his bed, and raiding him until Peter comes all over that perfect chest.

Peter slumps against the cold shower wall after he's panted out his orgasm, hoping that maybe he's got it out of his system and he can move on, forget all about the bastard.

He's just wrapping a towel around himself when the doorbell rings, and Peter huffs in exasperation as he secure the towel and then head to the door.

And there's Saint Christopher with a six pack of beer. He lifts it with a flash of that perfect smile and says, “Figured I owed ya an apology beer for waking you up.”

Then Chris takes in what Peter's wearing – or not wearing – and Peter's not imagining the heat in the guy's eyes. Or the way Chris swallows hard before he says, “I can come back at a more convenient time?”

Peter smiles slowly and steps back, opening the door wider. " _Will you walk into my parlor?_ "

Chris chuckles, relaxing, and taking the time to check Peter out thoroughly. “I would have said more big, bad wolf than lurking spider.” He arches a brow in challenge. “You plan on trying to eat me all up?”

Peter eyes darken as Chris steps inside and he shuts the door behind him. “Absolutely.”

 


	27. Museum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: working at a museum au
> 
> Tags: Dub-Con, Office Sex, Desk Sex, Butt Plugs, Come Marking, Lingerie
> 
> Note: Continuation of [Chapter 19](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/6204755)

“Mr. Hale, there's someone here to see you.”

Peter thanks the secretary and taps the intercom off, carefully sets the last piece of the vase and oh so very gently settles it onto the top shelf of a bookcase to dry. He washes his hands and then heads up to the front desk.

Peter stops a few steps away as the “visitor” turns to look his way, with a huge grin and wide open arms. Chris, the guy who he'd given head in a jail cell to, the guy whose name is still tattooed over his ass, strides up to him and engulfs Peter in a big bear hug.

Peter is stunned, barely remembers to bring his hands up to rest on Chris' back, to make this look normal and okay. He certainly doesn't want to make a scene here in the middle of his museum.

“Peter, how nice to see you again,” Chris exclaims, and then leans in to murmur low into Peter's ear. “You got thirty seconds to take me to a private place or I'm gonna fuck you right here on the floor.”

Peter stiffens and he senses the secretary looking at him as the hug goes on way too long, and he has a feeling Chris would try just that, so before he really realizes what he's doing, Peter is ushering Chris through the museum, down to the basement and his office.

Peter turns and shuts the door behind them, closes the blinds of the single window, and it's a good thing he did that, because as he turns around Peter sees that Chris is sitting in his chair. The older man is already tugging his cock from his jeans and stroking it with those big hands of his, and Peter's frozen, eyes following the movement.

“Come here, baby,” Chris murmurs, “I've waited too long for that sweet mouth of yours.”

Peter blinks a couple times at Chris, he can't even believe this is happening.

Chris arches a brow. “Come here, Peter. Now.”

Peter shivers and follows the command blindly, falling to his knees once again before Chris, mind ticking a moment back to the jail cell. But this time, Chris' hands are free, and he's not interested in waiting any longer. He curves one of those large hands around the back of Peter's head, and uses the other to slide the leaking tip of his cock along the seam of Peter's lips.

“Open up for me, baby,” Chris orders, and Peter does so, not thinking too hard about what he's doing.

Chris pushes himself in, doesn't stop when Peter expects him to, just pushes further and further in until he's deep inside Peter's throat and Peter feels like he can't breathe. He lifts his hands up to push at Chris, but the older man slaps Peter's hands away.

“Hands behind your back,” he demands, and Peter does so, eyes watering, and then Chris pulls away just enough for Peter to gasp a breath of air, and then he's slamming into Peter's throat again.

“That's it pretty boy,” Chris says, voice rough and deep, “Relax that throat. Slide your tongue along the bottom. Now suck a little bit. There's my good boy.”

Chris fucks Peter's mouth a while, then he steps back, smirking down at the man on his knees. Peter looks wrecked, lips swollen and spit slick, eyes puffy, cheeks wet with tears.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous boy,” Chris says. “On your feet now.”

A dazed Peter obeys, not even reacting when Chris reaches to unbuckle Peter's belt and tugs his pants down. It's not until Chris whistles low that Peter remembers wearing the blue satin panties today. And then his cheeks flush red as Chris pulls him close, rubbing his rock hard dick along the front of Peter's panties, while his hand cups and squeezes Peter's satin covered ass.

“Oh sweet boy, how did you know my favorite color was blue?”

Chris lifts his hand up and wraps it around the back of Peter's neck, captures the shorter man's mouth in a filthy kiss as he grinds them together, and he can feel Peter getting hard. “Mm, you love my cock, don't you baby?”

Peter flushes again but doesn't answer, and Chris slaps his hand hard down on the blue satin. Peter's eyes flare wide as he looks up in surprise.

“Say it, pretty boy,” Chris rumbles, “Tell me you want my cock.”

Peter looks down and mumbles the phrase, but Chris lifts his chin and makes him look up into Chris' eyes and say it again.

“I want your cock.”

“That's my good boy,” Chris smiles, and then turns Peter and lays him on his stomach over his own desk. He orders Peter to wrap his fingers over the edge of the desk and keep them there. Then he tugs Peter's shirt up so that he can see his own name, then he tugs those pretty panties down so that they're cupping Peter's ass.

Chris gives Peter a few smacks, spanking that perfect backside until it's a pretty shade of pink. He then licks his palm and gets his dick all wet with it, before slides his length along the cleft of Peter's ass.

“I ain't got time to fuck you proper,” he tells Peter, “so I'm gonna do it like this.”

Peter makes a noise of acknowledgment that devolves into a surprised moan as Chris' dick slides across the tight pucker of his hole, and he can't help the lift of his hips.

“Oh, you're gonna love getting fucked by me,” Chris tells Peter as he slides faster and faster along that part, his own precome now lubricating the way. “I'm gonna make you come on my cock over and over.”

When he feels himself getting close, Chris steps back a bit and finishes with his hand, covering the mark of his name with stripes of white before rubbing his seed into Peter's inked skin.

“So good for me, baby,” Chris coos as he tucks himself away and sits back in Peter's chair. Peter takes a few deep breaths and then pushes himself up, tugs the panties back up over his ass and reaches for the slack on the floor.

But Chris' is watching, and when he sees Peter's hard, cock pushing out the fabric of those blue panties, he reaches out for Peter.

“Aw, baby, we haven't taken care of you yet.” Chris tugs Peter into his lap, makes the smaller man spread his legs so that they're on either side of Chris', and then he slides a hand down to cup the satin covered cock.

“Now you're gonna come for me, pretty boy, and you're gonna go through the rest of the day with my come in your skin, and your own filling your pretty panties. I want you to think about how I made you come every time you move.” While he's talking, Chris is pressing his palm along Peter's length, sliding the slippery fabric back and forth. “When you get off work, I want you to go to the nearest sex shop and buy a plug and plenty of lube.”

Chris slides his free hand into the back of Peter's panties, after getting his index and middle finger slick with spit, and fucks Peter's ass with his finger tips. “Then you're gonna go home and work that plug into your pretty little ass.” Peter lays his head back on Chris' shoulder now as the older man works him over, not even realizing that he's moaning aloud. “I'm going to be at your house at eight o'clock tonight, and I want that ass all loose and ready. Because, baby boy, I am going to fuck you tonight whether you're ready or not.”

And that's when Peter comes in his panties, just bucks under Chris' hand, cock pulsing as he spills into the satin. Chris chuckles in satisfaction and pulls his hands away, rising from the chair after letting Peter slump to the floor.

“I'll see you at eight, Peter,” he grins, and then strides from Peter's office, leaving the door open.

Peter blinks once and then scrambles to get dressed, grimacing at the feeling of putting his slacks back on. But Chris is right, it does keep him thinking about what had happened here.

After work, Peter does just what Chris told him to, and by seven o'clock, he's leaning over his bathroom counter, slowly working the thick plug into himself. He puts the blue panties back on, figuring that's what Chris would want, and it turns out he was right, because when Chris sees them, he can't even wait to get Peter to the bedroom. Peter ends up getting fucked over the back of his couch, Chris tracing his name over and over as he fucks Peter hard. He reaches a hand around and makes Peter come in those panties again, and then he fills the younger man's ass with his own seed.

Chris has Peter wear those panties – and nothing else – all night long, just tugs them down whenever he feels like it, and slides right into the come filled hole. Chris uses Peter over and over, and then tugs the panties back up, tells Peter to hold all that come inside him. They fall asleep that way, Chris' dick plugging the loose and sloppy hole, and in the morning Chris fucks into him lazily as Peter picks up the phone and calls off work.

 

 


	28. Camping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Come Eating, Face Fucking

“Whose asinine idea was this anyway?” Peter Hale glares at his tent, hands on his hips, frustrated beyond belief at the pile of canvas and strings and poles that refuses to resolve into anything resembling a dwelling, no matter what he did.

“Your sister's, Hale,” comes a voice from the side, and Peter turns to see Chris fucking Argent standing in front of his tent, perfectly set up, of course. Everything Chris Argent touches turns to gold.

Peter hates him with every fiber of his being.

Right now, he also hates Talia. “You need to work your way up through the company, Peter, or they'll think I'm playing favorites,” she had said to him, and then stuck him down in sales. Not even head of sale, oh no, Peter had work it on the floor, schmoozing with pretentious upstarts who wanted to buy a little piece of class, people who he could buy. If he could get control of the inheritance Talia kept her tight fisted little hands on.

So, yeah, Peter's stuck in a job he doesn't want, forced to fucking compete for his place at the top of the sales leader-board with Chris “perfect-smile-easy-charm-gorgeous-eyes” Argent. And now, his damned sister has sent the whole sales and marketing department on some sort of get back to nature camping trip as if they were all ten-year-olds going to summer camp.

Also, his tent is a disaster.

Peter kicks it again and attempts to glare it into submission.

“Didn't you ever go camping as a kid?” Chris says as he crouches down and starts picking up the mangles pieces of Peter's tent.

“Can you see Talia out in the woods?” Peter snorts in spite of himself. His sister wakes up perfectly put together.

Chris flashes that grin up at Peter. “Yeah, can't see her out here.” He muses a second. “I can't even imagine her in jeans.” As if to emphasize the point, Chris leans over a bit, showing off his own jean-clad ass.

At least the view is nice, Peter thinks, then belatedly realizes that Chris has assembled his tent expertly in the time it took Peter to ogle his ass.

“Uh, thanks,” Peter says, eying the tent suspiciously.

“It'll hold,” Chris laughs, “Nothing but a bear's gonna get through that.”

Peter narrows his eyes at Chris, ninety percent sure that there's no bears around here. But after they've had dinner and roasted marshmallows and played get-to-know-each-other games, and Peter's laying on the cold ground, in the dark, all alone in his tent, he starts wondering. And then he starts listening.

There's a surprising amount of noise and Peter tries to identify them all inn vain. There's insects and bird and the crackling fire and then – then there's a grunting, shuffling noise and Peter goes very still.

He looks to the side as if his vision could pierce through the canvas walls, but then there's a shadow and something brushes along the back side of his tent.

Peter's unzipping the front and scooting out of his tent before he knows it, and ducking into the one closest to his, which just so happens to be Chris Argent's.

“I think I just heard a bear,” he blurts as he steps through the entrance, freezing just inside as his eyes adjust and he sees Chris laying there, splayed out on his bedroll, one hand fisting his cock, which – Peter is dismayed to note – is both longer and thicker than his own.

Chris, the shameless asshole, doesn't even stop, maybe slows down a bit as he answers Peter, voice deep and rough. “No bears 'round here, Hale, but you can share my tent if you're scared.”

“I'm not _scared_ ,” Peter huffs, “just – just concerned.” He can't take his eyes off Chris' hand and the hypnotic slide along that thick length.

“But it's going to cost you,” Chris continues as if Peter hadn't spoken. “Because I could sure use something to fuck other than my hand.”

Peter flushes, then hears a crack of a branch outside the tent, and scoots further in, frantically zipping the tent up, then tries to play it off, casually flopping down next to Chris, but far enough away that he's not touching the other man.

“Hilarious, Argent,” Peter grumbles, and then turns on his back to face the tent wall, doing his best to ignore what Chris is doing. Which is not easy, because Chris reaches an arm out and wraps it around Peter' waist, scooting closer so that he's got Peter pinned between the tent wall and his body. He starts grinding his cock against Peter's ass, then leans in and nips Peter's ear before growling into it.

“I'm absolutely fucking serious, Hale. You're gonna stay here, I'm gonna fuck that sweet, tight ass of yours.”

Peter tries to shrug the other guy off, but Chris is tugging down his pants and he's got a finger rubbing against Peter's hole dry before the younger man can react. He reaches down and grabs Chris hand.

“You are not fucking me dry,” Peter hisses, and Chris trails the tip of his tongue along Peter's ear.

“Better get my dick nice and wet then,” Chris breathes, and then rolls on his back.

Peter grumbles, but turns over. He starts to climb down, but Chris pulls him on top, so that he's straddling the older man's chest as he starts licking Chris' cock, getting the head sloppy with spit before he lowers his mouth onto it.

Peter startles when Chris pulls his pajama pants down to reveal his ass, and he tenses, but the finger that Chris presses into him is wet, and he relaxes, refocusing on Chris' cock as the older man opens him up with his finger.

The second he cant get three fingers in, Chris tugs Peter back off his cock, makes him lay on his stomach on the bedroll. Chris blankets Peter's body with his own, and rolls his hips forward, pushing his cock into Peter. The younger man hisses as it stretches him, and then one of Chris' hands covers his mouth.

“Shh, Hale,” he whispers, “Don't want everybody knowing the boss' brother likes to take it up the ass.”

Peter growls and swats at the bastard, but Chris just fucks into him harder, keeping that hand over Peter's mouth.

A scant few minutes later, Chris grunts and Peter feels the hot rush of come fill him, and he makes a face as Chris climbs off him. And then has to stifle a gasp as he feels the hot swipe of tongue over the abused, puffy rim of his hole.

Chris takes his time eating Peter out, cleaning him of every trace of Chris' come, and by the time he's done, Peter is as hard as diamond, fucking into the bedroll, but it's not giving him near the friction he needs.

Chris pulls away and wipes his face on the blanket, lifts Peter's hips so that the younger man is on his hands and knees. Peter bites down hard on his hand as Chris' hot mouth engulf his cock, and then his hands pull Peter's hips down. Peter doesn't need any more encouragement than that, and he fucks down into Chris' mouth, hips stuttering when Chris lifts his hand and slides two fingers into Peter's loose, sloppy hole and rubs over his prostate.

Peter fucks hard a few more times, and then holds all the way in Chris' mouth as he comes, and it's the best orgasm of his life, he comes so hard that he almost black out, and way more than he usually does.

When he's finally done, Peter collapses to the side, gasping for breath, and falls asleep immediately after pulling his clothing together.

Peter wakes up with his cheek resting against Chris' chest, wrapped tightly in the older man's arms. He thinks maybe he should go back to his tent before anyone finds out, but when he experimentally tries to pull away, Chris' arms flex and hold him tighter. Peter finds that he doesn't care who finds out very much after all.

 


	29. Rescue Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'i'm pretending to be ur ~~bff~~ _boyfriend_ bc u looked VERY uncomfortable with that person at the bar hitting on u' AU
> 
> Note: Continuation of [Saturday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/6663944).

It's been a very long week at work for Peter and all he wants is a couple drinks before he goes home. He realizes that he's in a bar known for its casual hookups – and has taken advantage of that a time or two – but tonight he's just here because they make a perfect martini. And he's tried telling this guy that over and over, but he's still looking over Peter, doing his best to wheedle his way into Peter's pants, even going so far as to rub up on Peter like a cat, murmuring something in Spanish.

Nothing Peter's said seems to defer this guy, and he's starting to wish he hadn't stopped for a drink, when there's an arm slung over his shoulders, and a somehow familiar voice drawls from behind him, “This guy giving you trouble, babe?”

Peter's wiling to take his chances with the new guy and so he turns and places a kiss on the guy's cheek, and it's not until he turns back to his drink that he places the guy. And then he nearly drops it, because the dude coming to his rescue is none other than Saturday Morning Lawnmower Guy. (And Peter may or may not have set his alarm to get up and watch him covertly from the window in the attic, which does in fact look over that yard.)

Fortunately, Peter is saved from the guy – Chris something – catching his momentary freak out, because Asshole steps right up into his face and snarls something. Now that he's had a drink or two, Peter's mildly amused at two men fighting over him. He rests his elbows on the bar and leans back as the – whose got at least four inches on Chris – threatens him, and Chris gets right up in his face and threatens back.

And sure, they had flirted a bit that day with the beer, but Chris hadn't come back, and other than his _totally not creepy_ watching from the tiny window of the attic, Peter had given up on seeing the guy again. Never in any of his fantasies – of course there were several of those – had he envisioned Chris throwing a punch to defend his honor.

And then Peter gets the second biggest shock of the night as Chris ducks the guy's half-ass drunken punch, and then flips him, and whips out a pair of cuffs.

“You just assaulted an officer while under the influence,” Chris says, tugging the guy's wallet free and checking the license. “Mr. McCall, and if I ever see your face uglying up this bar again, I will press charges.”

McCall grunts and Chris lets him up, takes him outside before uncuffing him, and then calls him a cab.

Peter's still wide-eyed and staring when Chris comes back.

“You're a cop?” Peter blurts in surprise, and Chris flashes that 1000 watt grin.

“Yeah, sorry I didn't mention it earlier, but it tends to turn guys off.”

Peter's mind hitches on the fact that Chris maybe wanted to turn him on, and without thinking, he blurts out,“Well, it does the opposite to me.”

Chris arches a brow and steps a little closer, and Peter tries to play it off like he meant to say that.

“Really,” Chris says mildly, and reaches forward – and across Peter to grab his beer. Peter's heart skips a beat at all the things Chris could be leaning forward for, and then it sinks as he sees the beer in Chris' hand. “I find that very interesting,” is all he says before taking a sip of his beer and throwing Peter a wink. “You're welcome for the save.”

He turns and walks away and leaves Peter staring after him. Peter blinks twice, and then turns around, down his martini and heads home.

Peter has absolutely had it with this day. He goes home and takes a long shower, deliberately does not think about Chris while he's in there, and then throws on a pair of pajama pants and goes to bed. He doesn't care if it's nine o'clock, he's just done.

Around an hour of not sleeping later, someone knocks on his door, and Peter's somehow not surprised to find that it's Chris. He doesn't let him in.

“What can I do for you, Officer?” he says, gratified at Chris' wince.

“You left before I got back from calling my boss, and so I came over when I got off shift.”

It hits Peter that Chris must have been undercover for some reason, and maybe he risked ruining his mission by saving Peter from that asshole, and Peter might have flounced out of there like some sort of diva. He's kind of frozen when Chris lifts his hand, handcuffs hanging from his index finger.

“I brought these with me...” He looks at Peter with hope in those blue eyes and maybe a little bit of mischief and yeah, well, Peter doesn't deny himself anything he wants.

He grabs a handful of Chris shirt and yanks him inside, crowds him up against the door and takes his time kissing the police officer thoroughly. Chris wraps his hands around Peter's ass and then flexes his arms and lifts Peter up. He automatically wraps his legs around Chris' waist, and the older man carries Peter into his bedroom, lays him out on the bed, and proceeds to make at least three of his fantasies come true.


	30. Chauffeur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chauffeur for a mafia hitman/woman AU
> 
> Tags: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Whipping, Aromantic Peter Hale, Unrequited Love

Chris Argent risks a glance in the rearview after turning the corner, only to find those intense eyes looking right at him. “Just another fifteen minutes, Mr. Hale,” he says softly, and the man in the backseat nods jerkily, visibly shivers, and then leans back in his seat, and closes his eyes.

Chris flicks his own gaze back to the road, taking a circuitous route back to one of several dozen safe-houses the Hales have in the area. They use them in a random pattern, but Chris has his favorites and this one is the top of that list. He pulls the car into the garage and shuts it off, slides from his seat and then locks the car.

Peter waits with eyes closed as Chris makes sure the house is clear, and that all the alarms haven't been tampered with. Only then does Chris come back and unlock the car, reach for Peter's door and open it, murmuring softly. “We're home.”

Peter's jittery as he climbs out of the car and proceeds Chris into the house. He stands just inside then garage entrance, waits until Chris locks the door and turns around, waits until he hears that snap of fingers, and then he breathes a sigh of relief as he sinks to his knees. Peter disregards the expensive suit and his supposed place far above the chauffeur in the hierarchy of their kind, and just lets it all go as Chris reaches out and strokes a hand through his hair with a murmured, “Good boy,” before he goes about the task of making them something to eat.

Peter stay in the spot, gaze blank as he withdraws into himself, and Chris gives him that time, knows the routine perfectly after nearly ten years of doing this. He tosses a robe and a blanket in the dryer to warm them once the snacks are in the oven, and then he heads into the bedroom to prepare it. Chris tugs the ropes from his small overnight bag, along with the soft flogger, leather strap, and thin crop he will be using on Peter later. He loops the rope over the four corners of the bed, sets the implements – along with lube and a condom – on the side table, and then places a folded towel precisely in the center of the bed.

With a nod Chris makes certain everything is in place, then he returns to the kitchen, pulls the hors d'oeuvres out to cool, and then heads to the laundry room, tugging the warm and fluffy blanket and robe from the dryer. The blanket gets folded to the side in the bedroom, the robe returns to the kitchen with Chris.

He lays it over the back of the kitchen chair and tosses the chair cushion to the floor nearby. Chris then turns to Peter and steps close, given the man a moment to recognize his presence, and then gently lays his hand on Peter's head.

“Up,” he says, and Peter blinks once before obeying the soft command. He stands there, seeming more relaxed than earlier, but Chris knows there's still knots of tension inside the hitman. He reaches for Peter nice and slow. He'd made the mistake of moving too fast only once, and ended up in a cast.

Peter still twitches, but he make no other move while Chris slowly disrobes him, laying each part of the three piece suit to the side to be sent for immediate dry-cleaning.

When Peter is completely nude, Chris tucks the warmed robe around his shoulders and tugs him towards the cushion on the floor. He goes easily, leaning his cheek to the side to rub it against the soft collar of the robe.

Chris settles into the chair and begins eating, feeding Peter little tidbits from his plate. Peter's eyes get a little brighter, his color improves, and he begins to come back to himself a tiny piece at a time.

Chris recalls the first time for them, the day when he'd finally had enough, after six months of Peter being jittery and viciously cruel with the sharp side of his tongue after a kill. He'd stepped up, taking his life in his hands, and growled into the (slightly) shorter man's face, “Enough!” and to both their surprise, Peter had been the one to look away, the one to back down. A muttered apology and a few drinks later, Peter confessed that the only time he'd ever been able to settle after an assignment was when he'd had a girlfriend that had tied him up.

Chris had casually mentioned that he had done that to some of his lovers in the past. That's as far as it went that night, but the next time, Peter had come to him and demanded he use his skills.

Over time, they had figured out what worked and what didn't work, and now they have an exact routine. Peter prefers the after-care before-hand, oddly enough, and so Chris feeds him the small bites of delicacies, and strokes through his hair, and other tender touches until the snacks are gone.

Chris takes the dishes to the sink and then reaches for the collar, fastening it around Peter's thick neck, and then clipping the leash on. He tugs lightly and Peter rises, silently follows him to the bedroom.

Chris slides the robe off the quiescent man and then lays him on his stomach, hardening cock in the center of the folded towel. He takes his time securing Peter to the bed, tying wrists and ankles so that there's almost no give to them.

Chris lifts the flogger once he's satisfied with the bindings, and trails it down Peter’s spine, over the curve of his ass, and down to the backs of his knees. It's the only warning Peter gets before the soft straps start kissing his skin. Chris starts slow, gives Peter the build-up he needs, until he's a rosy shade of pink from his broad shoulders all the way down to mid-thigh.

Peter prefers silence in the bedroom, and Chris obliges, though he has to bite back the urge to talk to the younger man, to tell him how gorgeous he looks like this, how _amazing_ he is. Peter doesn't want “all that emotional bullshit” so Chris makes no sound as he switches to the strap, again warning Peter with a single trail of the leather along his spine, and then lays thick stripes across the already warmed up skin. He's hard in his slacks by the time he picks up the crop, and Peter's been hard for at least ten minutes now if the way he's rutting against the towel is any indication.

Chris has to unzip and let his achingly hard dick out of the confines of his pants as he brings the crop down in a cross hatch pattern until his arm aches. Peter never once calls out red or even yellow – never has – and Chris sometimes wonders if he's even capable of getting him to that point, some dark part of him really, really wants to.

He sets the crop down and shakes his arm out before finally undressing himself, folding his things neatly onto the chair beside the desk. Chris grabs the bottle and the rubber from the table and kneels onto the bed behind Peter. He slicks up two fingers and preps Peter efficiently but not taking a particularly long time about it. Peter likes the stretch and burn, likes to feel it for a while after.

Once he's got Peter opened up just right, Chris wipes his hand off on the corner of the towel and then rolls the condom on. He hates these things, but Peter hates the mess.

Slowly, slowly, he pushes in, cock flexing at the pained and broken noise that Peter makes. He knows from experience that Peter let go sometime during the application of the crop, and silent tears rolled down his face.

It was one of those moments two years ago that made Chris realize that he was in love with Peter Hale. He's never breathed a word of it. Peter's unbent enough that he talks to Chris sometimes, and he's confessed that he doesn't attach romantically. Chris won't pressure him to give something that he can't.

Chris mind snaps back to the present as Peter rolls his hips and bears down, trying to get Chris to do something other than sit there fully encased inside him.

Chris pulls halfway out and then slams home, giving Peter what he wants and using him hard, slamming into him over and over. Peter's noises of pleasure get louder and louder, and Chris rakes his blunt nails along the reddened welts, pinches and presses and keep grinding his cock into that tiny bundle of nerves inside Peter.

Peter whimpers, hovering on that edge, and Chris speaks the first word, the only word that he says in the bedroom.

“Come.”

And Peter does, shuddering beneath him as he spills into the towel, Chris grunting a few times until he, too, orgasms, filling the condom inside Peter.

Peter collapses – as much as he can within the restraints – and Chris gingerly pulls away, gasping softly and then taking a few deep breaths as he ties off the condom and tosses it into the garbage can in the bathroom. He returns to the bedroom with a warm washcloth in hand, and gently cleans Peter up, untying him to roll him over and clean up his come covered stomach and cock, then tugs the towel away. Both go into the laundry, and Peter gets covered up with the dryer warmed blanket.

Chris can hear him snoring lightly as he gets into the shower and cleans himself up. He puts on some pajamas afterward, and lays out a suit for his boss, sets towels on the warmer, and arranges all his toiletries in the bathroom.

Chris makes sure he gets the breakfast sausage out for thawing, and then heads to the guest room for a few hours of sleep.

By the time Peter Hale rises, showers, and dresses himself, Chris has his breakfast waiting, also having dressed for work, as well as taken the laundry out.

Peter is back to his usual self, flirty and sarcastic, and Chris is his usual self, distantly correct as a chauffeur – and sometimes butler – ought to be.

Chris rolls up his sleeves and does the dishes while Peter makes a few phone calls, and then gets the car warming as he packs up Peter's things and puts them in the trunk. Chris drives Peter to his mansion, once the assassin has been assured that the coast is clear, and drops him off at the front door. He watches blandly as Peter greet his housekeeper with an outrageous flirtation and a kiss to the cheek and the heavy oak door shuts behind him.

Chris takes the car around back and parks it in the garage, makes sure to take the cleaner's slip to the actual butler, and then checks that everything they need for next time is in place.

Then Chris Argent climbs the stairs to his tiny apartment over the garage and quietly drinks himself to sleep.

 


	31. Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sherlock Holmes AU
> 
> Tags: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bondage, Whipping

Peter Hale stares down in silence at the body, so long that Dr. Argent, his constant companion, might have made a remark about statues were he in a bit of a joking mood. Or were there less of a crowd in the area. Doctors tend towards a kind of gallows humor and Argent is no exception. He finds his partner with the same affliction.

Before he can finish the thought, Hale explodes into action, checking this, lifting that, flipping the corpse and exclaiming at the unusual markings there. He bids Christopher copy them onto a bit of paper as best he can. Argent is no artist, but he's a fair hand at anatomy drawings from years of study.

Swiftly he sketches out the marks and then follows along in Hale's wake as the famous detective sweeps from the scene.

He stops so suddenly that Dr. Argent nearly walks into him, and has to pull up short with a somewhat uncoordinated stumble.

“Hale?” he queries and Peter turns, those intense blue eyes flashing.

“We need to see my sister.”

Christopher only just refrains from pulling a face. It's not that he dislikes the indomitable Talia Hale, it's that he doesn't like the way Peter becomes after such a visit. Something about the 'minor official in the British government' sends Peter into an interior darkness that he usually keeps well-hidden. Those days he shuts himself into his study and down special liqueurs that he concocts himself. On one memorable occasion, Peter poisoned himself.

Having been lost in such thoughts, it takes Dr. Argent a moment to notice that they are on the wrong path for a visit to Whitehall. Rather, if he were to suppose, Christopher might assume they were headed to Piccadilly.

“Hale, might I enquire – ”

“You may not,” Peter says brusquely and then turns onto the very street Dr. Argent had suspected. Peter is not known for his frequent of such places, and Christopher must admit to no small amount of curiosity, one that is soon sated when Hale knocks upon the door of one such establishment. Dr. Argent hesitantly follows through, after glancing along the street as if one of his betters might see him in these surroundings. He soon forgets the concern as Peter announces to the room at large.

“I would see my sister.”

Surely Talia Hale is not to be found in a place like this, Argent thinks, astonished. And he is soon proved correct for it is not the towering figure of government who glides into the room, but another woman whom Christopher had not seen before.

She proceeds to harangue Hale with such coarseness and ferocity that Argent is astonished, though Hale seems to take delight in it, and indeed once the woman pauses for breath, Peter returns in the same vein.

Dr. Argent distracts himself from the frankly embarrassing interplay by studying the young woman, finding it difficult to believe she could be Peter's sister. Though she does resemble both Peter and Talia – with that same dark hair and knowing look to her smirk – she seems far too young to be of the same mother.

“How's Derek?” she says after the insults had wound down and she has arranged herself, rather too comfortably in Christopher's opinion, upon the settee.

“Doing well in the states,” Peter replies easily, and Argent wonders just how much hidden family Hale has around the world.

Before he could continues, a redhead sweeps into the room, and she's quite nearly the most beautiful woman that Christopher has seen, and he rises at her presence, startling both Peter and the woman he claims as his sister.

“Cora Hale,” the redhead exclaims, hands on her hips, “how dare you not inform me that Peter is here.” She sweeps forward and for a moment Christopher thinks she is about to hugs him in greeting, but the woman's hand is lifted to slap him along the face. Judging by the way Peter's head snaps to the side, it's no mean blow, and Argent cannot help but step forward. “Now see here, miss – ”

But his intervention is cut short by Peter himself, who places a hand on Argent's shoulder. “nay, Christopher, I well earned that one.” Then he lowers into a bow aimed at the fiery girl. “Thank you, Miss Lydia.”

But the woman has already gone, though he does notice the spark of amusement that linger in the cast of Hale's eyes. Christopher can see that he won't be getting an introduction any time soon, and given where they were, he doesn’t think his breech of manners will be too much remarked upon. So he takes it upon himself to step forward and offer his hand.

“Miss Cora, I presume? I am – ”

“Doctor Christopher Argent,” she finishes smoothly, briefly touching her fingertips to his hand. “I have heard much of you, Doctor, come sit next to me and tell me of my uncle's antics.”

“Uncle?” Christopher questioned and Cora laughed with a soft bell-like tone.

“I do hope I don't look old enough to be his sister. It is a convenient fiction for Mother's purposes.”

“Mother?” Argent repeats, just before it strikes him, and he finds himself inching away from the lady. “Talia Hale is your mother.”

“Yes, yes,” Peter says impatiently, “introductions over. Argent, show Cora your drawing.”

Christopher hesitates in question, to show such a gruesome thing to a lady, however besmirched her honor, but Hale is insistent. And it turns out rightly so, because Cora is able to give them the man's name and residence, and his whereabouts during a very important time in question.

Peter nods in thanks and sweeps out, leaving Christopher to make the niceties, and then follow. They hire a cab back to Peter's neighborhood.

Dr. Argent busies himself making a tea while Peter nails papers to the walls in some sort of fit of inspiration.

“Excellent,” he says to himself while sipping the tea and studying his handiwork. Christopher chooses to take it as a compliment upon his provision.

“Argent,” he says after some times spent contemplating the wall in silence. “I've solved the case.” He leaps from his perch and slips into the other room to send a telegram round to Scotland Yard, while Chris fills his pipe and waits for the man's return.

“it's done,” Peter says as he returns and throws himself ungracefully into his chair. Christopher doesn't answer, just puffs on his pipe peacefully. Peter gets up seven times, paces the room three, leaves and comes back in four, and then starts destroying plates with the hammer.

Christopher finishes his pipe and taps it out, setting it to the side before he glances casually over to the destruction.

“Shall we go upstairs?”

Peter snaps back to himself, affects an uninterested look and shrugs a shoulder. “I suppose, if it suits you.”

Christopher nods once and then pushes up from his chair, jerks his chin toward the staircase, and watches as the apparently uncaring hale practically leaps up them. By the time Dr. Argent makes it up the stair, Peter has shucked his outer-clothes and his nimble fingers are halfway there with the underclothes.

Soon he's laid out on the bed, with Christopher aside, the latter bringing a leather strap down upon the fair skin in a repeating fashion. It takes time for Peter, but eventually he breaks under the continuous slap of the blows. Christopher can see the moment the tenseness in his shoulder and back relaxes, and then he tosses the leather to the side. Peter turns to his back, grinds his reddened skin down into the bed-covers as Christopher retrieves the special oil and the length of rope.

Peter's arms go over his head, tied round with the rope and looped over the bed-frame, and then a little more lightly around his neck. By now, Dr. Argent knows precisely how tight it can be to give Peter what he needs and not push him into unconsciousness.

Once the preparations are complete, Christopher removes his own attire, taking his time, for Peter likes to work himself up a while first, using his arms to tighten the loop around his neck.

Christopher returns to the bed to run his hands along skin that is only revealed to him in these times, worshiping through touch, and then through press of lips. He covers all the he can of Peter is soft kisses while the man tightens his own noose, and then comes to a kneel between Peter's spread thighs. Dr. Argent presses slick fingers into the tight rear entrance of Peter's while he regains his breath.

Peter resumes pulling upon the rope around his neck when Christopher presses his length inside, already pleading for more from his companion.

“Soon, Peter, hush,” is the only reply, repeated every time Hale makes the impassioned request, for Christopher takes his time about the process, until he is also feeling the urgency. Only then does he snap his hips forward in a driving pace, rewarded with the approving cries from beneath him, one practised hand coiling around Peter's thick length in time with his movements.

Peter, for his part, tugs his wrists more, holding himself on the brink of breathlessness until Christopher shifts just so and Hale feels himself explode in pleasure.

Peter floats on a cloud of bliss as Christopher spills his own seed, and then pulls back in order to release Hale from his bindings, and wipe away the mess from him. Once he, too, is clean, Christopher tugs them both under the blanekts. Peter, at least feeling peaceful in spirit, falls into a blissful sleep, safe in Christopher's arms.

 


	32. The Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fancy restaurant AU where all the employees go to the bar next door after work
> 
> Tags: Alley Sex, Hate Sex, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Angst

“Here comes your boyfriend.”

Chris Argent darts a glare at his boss, to which John Stilinski just grins and winks, and then makes himself scarce, so that Chris is the only person available to serve the flood of people coming in.

The famous chef Peter Hale and his overpaid crew of under-chefs, sous chefs – hell, could be all the bussers for all he knows, they're too snooty to bother talking to a guy like him.

Hale bursts in the door like the whirlwind he apparently is, yells out an order for Old Fashioneds for everyone and then plops himself down at the center of the largest table in the bar.

The first few times it made Chris grit his teeth and fight the urge to punch him in his smug face. Now he just sighs and counts the people streaming in as best he can, starts making the drinks and takes them to the tables a dozen at a time.

Hale gets served first of course.

By the time he's got everyone a glass, it's time for refills. They keep him busy for the next hour, ignoring him thoroughly except to call for another drink, then Hale – at some who-knows-how determined time – rises and tosses five hundreds onto the table in front of him. That's the cue and the whole group of people flow out like a dam has been released.

Another week gone by where Chris hasn't talked to Peter Hale.

He cleans up everyone else's things, leaving Peter's for last, and then runs his thumb over the rim where Peter's lips have touched, picks up the straw that he toyed with in his mouth for an agonizing twenty minutes. He rests his palm on the seat that's still warm from the man and then takes a deep breath, memorizing the scent of Hale's cologne.

“Why don't you just ask him out?” John's back from wherever he fucked off to, grabbing the stacks of cups and taking them back to the dishwasher.

Chris just snorts. They've had this conversation before. Peter never comes in alone, and there's no way Chris is putting himself on the line in front of that group of snobby bastards. The one time Chris had curiously ventured into Peter's restaurant, they hadn't let him through the door. _Dress code_ , they had said.

Chris had been wearing his best – and only – suit, but when he saw the designer dresses and black tie tuxedos within, he'd nodded and played it off casually. And then went to the gym and hit the bag until he couldn't feel his arm anymore.

He had ducked outside for a smoke at various times, trying to see what time Peter left the restaurant, but as far as he still knew, Peter lived in the damned place.

Six months now, since Peter had first swept into the bar and curled his perfectly manicured fingers around Chris' heart, and he hadn't even been able to introduce himself.

Chris paid attention though, he knows a lot about the way Peter interacts with people, and with a little assist from google – it's not stalking no matter what John says – he knows a fair amount about Peter's public life and family.

Peter was born filthy rich, into a family that had been here longer than America, and had gone to college – gotten an MBA – before heading to culinary school.

Chris was born in the back of a pick-up truck on the back roads of Kansas, to a tough-as-nails military wife, got smacked around by his dad once he was discharged, until the man drank himself into an early grave. He'd dropped out of high school and been working ever since.

Suddenly, the bar's too confining, and Chris steps outside, tries in vain to see the stars. He misses the wide open spaces of the Midwest, he misses his truck, and he misses the music. He doesn't miss having to hide who he is, and the fact that any of his family or friends he grew up with would take a crowbar to his face were he to show it, keeps Chris here in the city.

Chris leans his head back against the brick of the building, exhales his drag and sings softly to himself. “You know you came from it and someday you’ll return to this...”

“That's super sad and disturbing,” comes a voice from the shadows, and Chris startles back, nearly braining himself on the wall in the process.

There's a glint in Peter Hale's eyes as he steps from the shadows, and Chris is caught between wanting to choke him out, and wanting to pin him to the nearest wall. He freezes in indecision, and ends up just staring at Hale in dumb silence.

“Good thing you're pretty,” Peter says, moving closer and now Chris can smell his cologne, and then he flushes at the compliment, and just as quick realizes it's not really a compliment, and he's back to wanting to wrap his hands around the (slightly) shorter man's neck.

“Some of us have to get by on things other than Daddy's money,” ends up being the first thing he says to the guy he's been pining – not pining – over for half a year now.

 _Oh well done, Christopher, that's totally going to make him jump into bed with you._ Chris sighs, and he's about to apologize when he sees the grin on the chef's face.

“You're awful sassy for a dropout bartender,” is what he comes back with, and Chris feels a flash of fury, and then the cold of shock as it sinks in that Peter Hale has done his research on _Chris_.

This is even close to how he thought this would go, and Chris flicks his cigarette, crosses his arms – not missing the brief appreciative glance at his biceps – and leans back against the wall.

Chris suddenly feels a surge of confidence. Now that he knows Hale is just as interested, he's back on familiar ground. He lets his eyes trail along the younger man's body and then arches a brow.

“There a reason you came slumming tonight, Hale?”

Peter arches a brow and steps forward again, staring into Chris' eyes as if searching for something. “Maybe I'm just heading into my favorite bar for a drink and you're in the way.”

Chris glances over to the door, a good three feet from where he's standing, and then swings his head back to Peter. Instead of answering, he pushes off the wall and closes the distance between them. He reaches out, slowly so as to not startle Peter, and slides his hand around to cup the back of Peter's neck, leaning in to whisper the words that he says in nearly every one of his fantasies.

“I think you came here to get fucked, Hale, and I'm just the man for the job.”

Chris can't even believe he actually managed to say that without his voice cracking or something else embarrassing, but Peter's surprised gasp – and the wide pupils he looks into when Chris pulls back – are a fairly good indication that his gamble paid off.

Peter recovers quickly – he's not the type who gets thrown off his stride for long – but Chris is one step ahead of him.

“You've got a choice, Hale,” he says before Peter can speak. “Your place or back here in the alley.” No way he's taking a guy like Peter back to his tiny – and messy – apartment.

He's only a bit surprised when Peter chooses the alley. Chris figures that Peter's in this for just a bit of a thrill, and maybe he had some sort of vision of waking up together and breakfasts and walks holding hands, but if this is the only way he gets Peter, Chris will take it.

He waist until they're out of sight before he surprises Peter by shoving him up against the wall, and maybe it was a little more forceful than necessary, but Chris is a little bit angry. Peter seems to like it, if the way he moans low is any indication, and Chris doesn't bother to be gentle as he tears open Peter's designer jeans and tugs them down to cup his perfect ass. And oh the _things_ he wants to do to that ass.

Chris has to get by with just telling Peter about them. “Look at that gorgeous ass,” he says low, almost a growl as he liberates the packet of lube and the condom from Peter's pocket, “I'd like to bite it, to smack it, to mark it up as mine.”

A now-slippery finger slides down the cleft of Peter's rear to swirl around the tightly puckered hole before pushing in. Peter makes a bitten-off strangled noise, and Chris slides his other hand to the front of the shorter man, sliding along under his shirt and tweaking a nipple just as he adds a second finger.

“Opening up so well for me, Hale,” Chris murmurs as his hand moves from playing with Peter's chest down to stroking the chef's cock lightly. “You want to get fucked so bad don't you?”

“Shut up and just do it already,” Peter snarls, and Chris feels that flash of anger that Hale always seems to be able to produce in him. So he pulls both hands away, causing the hint of a whimper to emerge from the pinned man.

“Well, now, that wasn't very polite at all,” Chris says, thickening his drawl a bit. “I think maybe you kin do better.”

“Really?!” Peter says in disbelief. “Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position?”

Chris steps back, letting Peter feels the cold where his warmth had just been. “You're welcome to go find them.”

There's a silent battle of wills, but it's Peter who relents, mutters a please under his breath. Chris doesn’t budge until Peter's over normal volume, asking Chris to please fuck him.

“That's m'boy,” Chris says with approval, not missing the way Peter's cock twitches in his hand at the praise. “Now, y' gonna be good for me, and I'll be real good to you.”

And Chris keeps his word, fucking Peter hard and fast like he wants it, but making sure that the chef has a mind-blowing orgasm, and gently wiping him clean with a handkerchief after he spills over Chris' hand.

Chris leans back against the wall and lights up another cigarette, watches Peter put himself back together, watches Peter takes a deep breath and then nod in Chris' general direction before turning on the heel of his designer shoes and stalking back to his restaurant.

Chris sighs and shrugs it off, grinds out his smoke beneath his feet and heads back to work.

 


	33. France

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: studying abroad AU
> 
> Tags: Hand Jobs, Rimming, Massage

Talia hugs him again and Peter grits his teeth in his fake smile. “I'll be fine, the school has another student meeting me at the airport. I've been assured he speaks excellent English.”

He can't wait to get away from his overbearing sister who thinks she has every right to run his life completely.

Talia finally lets him go and they part at the checkpoint and – for the first time in his life – Peter is well and truly alone. It's glorious.

He's so cheerful at being on his own that he doesn't even say something when someone pushes a wheelchair right over his foot.

Sixteen hours later, everything has changed. Peter's cramped, his foot still hurts, and he's had to listen to children screaming and his seat partner snoring for the last five of those hours. He's ready to rip someone's throat out by the time he finally stomps off the plane and into the Paris airport.

Which is as big as a small city, and Peter's suddenly struck by the fact that he's in a huge, alien place all alone. It doesn't put him in a better mood.

Peter is, however, mildly cheered by the absolutely gorgeous boy holding a sign with his name on it. Tousled blonde hair, eyes like sapphires, and a smile that brightens up the entire baggage area.

“Peter?” he says, his accent making it sound like Pea-tairr, which the American finds incredibly charming. He could listen to the guy say his name over and over – preferably in a comfortable motel bed.

“ _Oui_ ,” says Peter with a bit of a smirk, earning another bright smile from the other young man.

“Christophe,” he says, extending his hand, “ _Monsieur_ Dubois ask that I meet you here.”

Peter shakes his hand and follows him to the baggage claim in a comfortable silence. He's grateful that Christophe doesn't seem to be the chatty type because he really needs a bit of silence.

When they arrive on campus, Christophe shows him to his _dortoir_ , and carries the larger of Peter's three bags inside for him.

Peter settles his other two bags down just inside the doorway to his room, and then turns to ask Christophe something, but the other man is too close and he ends up just colliding with him. Christophe drops Peter's suitcase on his already hurt foot, and Peter lets loose an impressive string of curse words as he collapses onto he end of the bed, holding his foot.

“Oh, _désolé_ , Peter. I am so sorry,” Chris says as he falls to his knees before Peter and takes the hurt foot in his hand, gently tugging free the sneaker after untying it carefully. He rolls down Peter's sock and traces long, clever fingers along the bones to make sure nothing is broken.

Peter bites his lip, because it feels really nice and there's no way he wants Christophe to stop touching him. And he doesn't, the other boy just transitions from checking for broken bones to massaging aching feet. Peter manages to remain absolutely silent until Christophe digs his thumbs in _just so_ , and it's so good that Peter lets out this pornographic moan, which startles the kneeling man, and he looks up at Peter's flushed face and darkened eyes.

“I imagine your feet hurt after all that travel,” he says by way of explanation. “Monsieur Dubois did say to make you very comfortable.”

“It's working,” Peter manages – though some places on his body were starting to get a bit uncomfortable – and reaches down to take his other shoe off.

Christophe bats his hand away. “I will do it, Peter.”

Peter arches a brow but desists, watches those hands tug his shoe and sock away and then massages the other foot. Christophe just moves easily up, sliding his hands into the legs of Peter's jeans to rub his calf muscles after that, and Peter's half-hard already.

“That's good, thank you, um, _merci_ ,” Peter says, not wanting to give away his arousal, but Christophe tilts his head, and studies Peter in silence.

“You like this, yes?”

Peter is forced to nod. “Yes, it was nice, but I should probably – ”

“Lay down,” Christophe says. “You should probably lay down.” He assists with a shove to Peter's shoulders, and Peter's so surprised that he falls backwards onto the bed.

“I am making you very comfortable,” Christophe says, and then Peter feels his zipper being tugged down, and he kind of can't believe this is really happening.

Christophe pulls his jeans completely off, and then goes back to massaging Peter's legs, and by the time his hands slide over Peter's knees, his dick is straining against the confines of his blue silk boxers.

Chris doesn't give it a second glance, though he has to have noticed, just reaches for Peter's shirt and efficiently pulls it off of him. Peter is now exposed to Christophe's gaze, but he just keeps on with his massage, rubbing the muscles of Peter's stomach and chest, shoulder and biceps.

Peter's a melted puddle of boy by the time Christophe steps back and orders him over, and he doesn’t hesitate to obey, though his breath hitches a bit when his hips slide against the bedspread.

Christophe starts at Peter's neck and moves down this time. Peter can't help but grind into the mattress, doesn't even realize he's doing it until he receives a light slap on the ass.

“Still, be still,” Christophe commands, and neither of those things are really helping the situation.

When Christophe's hands reach Peter's ass, he kneads the tight globes and again Peter can't help the tiny movements he makes, trying to control himself, but he just can't, everything feels so amazing.

Christophe gently tugs the boxers down until they're cupping the curve of Peter's backside, and then he grabs great fistfuls of the globes and pulls them apart.

Peter moans into the bed, and then gasps loudly when he feels a hot tongue against his entrance. Christophe's tongue slides along and around that furled pucker, slowly opening him up, just as he'd slowly massaged Peter, and the American is a whining, pleading mess by the time Christophe pulls back.

Christophe climbs onto the bed, arranging some pillows so that he can comfortably lean against the headboard, and then tugs Peter to him, arranges the other boy on his lap, and then proceeds to slide three fingers of his right hand inside Peter.

Peter moans again, bucking his hips, and Christophe's free hand wraps loosely around Peter's cock, angry red and dripping with precome, and he gradually brings Peter to the edge, keeping him there a few long moment before pressing the pad of a finger into the plump bundle of nerves inside, while twisting his wrist just right.

Peter cries out and then comes, shuddering in Christophe's grip, lost in the wave of the most intense orgasm he's ever had. He thinks he might have blacked out a while even, because when he's once again aware, Peter is tucked under a warm blanket, with Christophe curled around him, stroking cleaned fingers lightly through his hair and murmuring softly _en Francais_.

Peter lifts his chin slightly to look up at Christophe, and when the latter asks, “You are comfortable, now?” Peter can only huff a soft laugh and nod.

“ _Oui_ , Christophe.”

 


	34. Trick-Or-Treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I brought kids to trick or treat at your door and you didn’t have any candy AU
> 
> Tags: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Apologies, Cake, Sex and Chocolate

“Peter!” Chris knocks on his door again, “Trick or treat!”

Peter opens the door this time, blearily rubbing his eyes as Evangeline twines around his feet. “Chris?” he arches a brow, then looks down to the three kids looking expectantly up at him. “Uh,” he says coherently.

“Trick or treat,” Chris says again with a wide grin and Peter blinks again.

“Um, Christopher...? I don't have any candy.”

“Not even on Halloween?' Chris says, incredulously and then brushes past Peter into the apartment. Peter ties his robe tighter and blinks down at the munchkins following him like ducklings. He furrows a brow and tries to recall if Chris' daughter has kids, but he doesn't think so?

“Where's the candy, Uncle Chris?” one of them – dressed as a fox – pipes up and Peter's brow relaxes. He's not sure if he's ready to date a grandfather. Not that they're dating. They just have sex from time to time. And apparently show up to each other's apartments uninvited. With children.

“Jackpot!” Chris exclaims and pulls Peter's bag of Hershey's Kisses from the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator. He proceeds to split it between the three kids, right before Peter's astonished eyes, and then tosses the bag away.

“Thanks, babe,” he says and stuns Peter by dropping a kiss on the shorter man's forehead before ushering the children back out into the hallway.

Peter stands there staring at the door a long, long time after Chris closes it.

-

Peter's watching Oberyn Martell romp with his lovers – again – when a knock sounds on the door again. He ignores it. Peter Hale does not do Halloween, regardless of certain people with costumed children who take candy from him.

He's totally not sulking over the vandalism of his apparently not-so-secret stash.

The knocks sounds again and Peter crosses his arms and focuses on the screen. He hears the key rattle in the lock and the door open.

“Really, Christopher? Breaking and entering now?” He doesn't turn around.

There's no reaction behind him, and Peter has the sudden thought that it might be an actual burglar or something, and so he turns to look at the doorway – and sees Chris standing there holding a giant chocolate Hershey's Kiss cake. He's so distracted by the cake that it takes him a few minutes to notice Chris has absolutely nothing on.

“Christopher?” Peter rises and takes a few steps closer, and his eyes can't seem to decide whether they want to look at the cake or Chris.

“I owe you an apology, Peter,” he says and then sets the cake on the table and turns to rummage through the kitchen for a plate and utensils.

Peter just stands there, confused a moment, and then just lets himself enjoy the view as Chris bends over. He watches Chris cut a large piece of cake, settle it on the plate, then put the plate down in front of the place he usually sat for dinner.

Chris looks at him expectantly, and Peter shrugs and takes the seat, lifts the fork and cuts a bite. And then moans as the rich chocolate explodes across his tongue. This is no ordinary cake, Chris has gone out of his way to buy the absolute best, and it's worth every penny.

As he downs his second bite, Peter feels Chris' hand at his zipper, and yes, Chris has crawled under the table and is freeing Peter cock from the confines of his pajamas. He continues to eat this incredible cake as Chris wraps his lips around Peter's thickness and gently sucks him until Peter's finished his treat.

Chris slides his tongue along the underside of Peter's cock, tracing that thick vein there, sliding himself forward and back gradually, his own dick plumping at the noises that Peter's making – whether from the cake, or what he's doing down here. Chris is hard as a rock and leaking precome liberally by the time Peter's done with the cake, and he pulls away as he hears the fork set down, and slips from under the table.

Chris curls his hand in Peter's and leads him to the bedroom, slowly taking his pajamas off, placing kiss after kiss across exposed skin, before he lays Peter down on the bed and lowers himself on top of the younger man for some long lingering kisses while his hand curls around Peter's cock once more and slowly jacks him until Peter's fucking himself through the tunnel of Chris' hands and whining with his need to finish.

Chris ducks his head down, and laves his tongue over one of Peter's nipples, letting his rhythm speed up until Peter's breath hitches, and then he gently sinks his teeth into the tight bud and tugs. Peter jerks in his grasp, crying out softly as he shudders and spills over Chris' hand, clinging to the older man through the aftershocks, as Chris soothes him with kisses.

“Apology accepted,” Peter rasps out after a few moment, and Chris can't help but chuckle softly and nuzzle into Peter's neck.

“Good, because there's so much more I intend to do to you.”

 


	35. Homework

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'I forgot to do my homework so I'm just going to copy off of you' AU
> 
> Tags: Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Hatesex, Angst, Abuse, Bullying

“Hale!” Peter twitches, fighting off the cringe, trying to look unaffected as Chris Argent tosses his bag down onto the science table and settles in the stool next to him. “I'm going to need last nights homework.”

Peter resists the urge to take a swing at Argent, he knows from experience that only ends up with him in pain. If he were a wolf, Peter wouldn't have these problems, could protect himself against the senior that's decided to make his life a living hell.

“ _We don't give the bite until 21, Peter,” Talia had said when he pleaded with her for it, “You know that. The rules are rules for a reason. You have to prove that you're a survivor, to earn your place in this pack.” She'd turned away, taking her four brats – all born wolves – out to the Preserve. “Learn to deal with your problems like humans do, Peter,” she'd sneered, “and if you don't get those anger issues under check, you won't pass the Rites.”_

“Homework, space-case,” Argent says, snapping his fingers in front of Peter's face, bringing him back from his most recent argument with his older sister.

“Do your own homework,” Peter snaps, knowing exactly what it's going to get him. But Peter Hale is nothing if not stubborn and proud.

And he doesn't regret a thing, not even when he ends up in the boys locker room, cradling a broken arm and sporting a broken eye – and missing his homework. He just waits there. Peter knows that they will call Talia the second they realize he's missing, and she will sniff him out.

But Peter's wrong, it's not Talia who finds him, it's Bobby Finstock, who comes in early to change for lacrosse and sees Peter .

“Shit, Hale, what happened?”

“Argent,” he says, and Bobby winces.

“You should just give him your homework, dude.”

Peter snorts. “You give him your homework.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “I do his math homework _for him_ , idiot.”

“I'm not going to give in,” Peter mumbles as Bobby helps him to his feet.

“He'll kill you, man.” Bobby leans close and whispers conspiratorially. “I was out last night with my dad,” (Finstock is the Sheriff), “and we ran across him and his dad, and his fucking baby sister out in the woods, and dude, their weapons are top of the line. The sister had a goddamned crossbow.”

Bobby takes Peter to the payphone outside the locker rooms before he continues. “Says they were hunting, but I don't know what besides a damned elephant needs that much firepower.”

“Wolf,” Peter mumbles, and Bobby snorts.

“Ain't no wolves in California.”

-

Turns out Talia knows all about the Argents being hunters, just didn't think it was Peter's business to know pack things. “Don't bring yourself to their attention,” she warns, a little too late. “Do whatever you have to, to fly under the radar.”

Peter's in a lot of pain, because Talia refuses him the pain meds, on the grounds that they could make him spill family secrets, and so when Chris threatens to slam the cast in a door, Peter finally gives in and just hands over his homework.

But it doesn't work for him like it works for Bobby, Peter doesn't get left alone. He gets it worse now, and he's learned that if Chris comes to school with obvious bruises – that his are going to be worse.

The day Chris comes to school with a black eye and a dislocated shoulder, Peter ends up pinned against a wall in the locker room while Argent shreds his clothing, laying into him with a belt over and over.

And these “sessions” probably wouldn’t be so bad, but Peter can't seem to stop his mouth, it gets worse when he's in pain. So he mouths off until Chris shuts him up, but it never stops him for long, not until he says, “Is this what your Daddy does to you every night, Argent? Is this how Hunters train their children?”

Peter doesn't even think about what he's saying, not really, doesn’t even realize until the beating stops, until there's complete silence behind him, and he winces as he turns around to see shocked wide blue eyes.

They stare at each other and then Chris is surging forward, pinning Peter's flayed back against the wall. “I knew you were one of those Hales, fucking knew it. How's it feel to be human in a pack of wolves, Peter? I bet they treat you like shit. No one cares about you do they? The weakling of the pack.”

Apparently all the work Peter's been doing on his anger issues hasn't helped one bit, because he sees red and takes a swing at Chris. Both of them are shocked when it connects, and then they're rolling on the floor, throwing fists and knees and elbows, until suddenly they're face-to-face, Chris' hand wrapped around Peter's throat, and Peter does the only thing that he can think of in that moment. He surges up and plants a kiss on Chris' mouth.

Chris looks at him with wide eyes for the second time that day, and then he's crushing his lips down into Peter's, and Peter can't help but respond. Never in his wildest dreams has he ever imagined this. This...this is _amazing_. He feels like he's floating and he can barely breathe.

Chris' hands are sure and steady as he strips off what's left of Peter's shirt, ignoring Peter's muffled curse as the action bumps his cast. He tugs down Peter's jeans, and the younger boy hisses as his back is pressed against the rough brick wall, but then Chris' hand is wrapped around his dick, touching him where no one's ever touched before, and Peter thinks maybe he's died and gone to heaven.

And then Chris pulls back and Peter opens eyes that he didn't realized he'd even closed, biting his lip, because he will not whimper, but then his eyes widen as he watches Chris tug off his shirt.

Peter's eyes trace the scars, the healing bruises, the fresh welts, and then flick up to Chris' face.

“Shut up, Hale,” the other boy snarls and shoves him back against the wall, crowding close. Chris curls his hand around Peter's cock again, only this time there's a band of heat along the underside and Peter almost loses it when he realizes what it is. Then Chris starts fucking both their cocks together though his hand, only pulling his hand away enough to lick the palm and then back again, and all Peter can do is hang on to Chris' shoulders, blunt human fingernails digging into the skin there.

And then Chris starts talking to him, and Peter's watched a couple pornos with the guys, okay, but he's never heard the kind of things that spill from Chris' lips.

“I'm gonna come all over you, gonna cover you with it.” He grabs Peter's chin with his free hand, forces the younger boy to look into his eyes. “You're lucky I don't have lube on me, because I would pin you up against this wall and make you my bitch, I'd fuck you so hard you wouldn't walk right for a week.” He leans closer, murmuring against Peter's lips now. “And I'd make you beg for it.”

Peter will probably be ashamed of it later, but right now, it's working for him, and his breath hitches and he gasps out a warning.

“Yes, bitch,” Chris growls, “Come for me, show me how much you want me, do it.”

And Peter does, coating Chris' hand and dick with his fluids, and it must be what pushes Chris over the edge, because he comes too just a few strokes later, only he directs it to coat Peter's stomach.

“Now you belong to me,” Chris says in a rough, gasping voice, and then wipes his hand on Peter's abdomen, mixing their come all up together, and then cleans himself off with the rags of Peter's shirt.

Peter slides down the wall when Chris releases him, blinks at the destroyed shirt as it lands in his lap, and then watches Chris dully as the older boy redresses himself, and leaves without another word.

Peter somehow gets himself together, and now he's feeling every welt, every bruise, and his broken arm is throbbing, and he smells of blood and come. It's a very long walk home, topped by Talia wrinkling her nose and ordering him into the shower immediately.

Peter lays awake that night and tries to make sense of it all. But he never gets any answers, because the next day Talia tells him that the hunters have moved along.

Chris Argent is gone.

 


	36. Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I keep walking in on you making out with my roommate and I’m uncomfortably into both of you au
> 
> Tags: Dubious Consent, Spitroasting, Comeplay, Come Marking, Masturbation, Threesome - M/M/M
> 
> Note: This one has Peter/Chris/Sheriff (John).

Peter's already turning the doorknob when he hears it, the soft moan that Chris makes when John buries his face in the other boy's neck. But he can't stop the swing of the door and then he's there, standing like an idiot in the hallway, watching as yet again, the two seniors make out on their couch – _his_ couch actually, the one Talia had shipped down for him when he'd moved in with John who hadn't owned one.

They don't even look up, though Chris waves in his general direction as he comes in and shuts the door behind him. Peter tries hard not to look at them, but he can't help it when Chris makes another very specific noise that he may or may not have memorized and yes, John's hands are now in Chris' pants and Peter flees to the bathroom.

He turns on the shower and it overpowers the noise coming from the living room and he breathes a sigh of relief. But he can't get the image of the two of them out of his mind, vivid imagination helpfully providing him with extended images. Of how they'd slowly peel each other out of their clothing, how Chris would go to his knees for John, blue eyes dark as he looks up, lips spit-slick and shiny as John's cock fucks between them. Of Chris kneeling on Peter's couch, hands curled over the back when John tells him to, John's big hand swinging down for a few smacks, making Chris ask him for more, making Chris call him Daddy. Of Chris desperately straining not to move when John slide his thick cock inside, imagines watches John's hand stroking Chris' dick slowly, keeping the other boy on the edge.

Peter hisses softly as he tugs his pants down, dick already hard and leaking, and as he steps into the shower, he starts thinking about them in here with him, and he doesn't even care how the logistics would work, he just thinks about soap slick bodies and both of them putting their hands all over him. He comes hard, jerking as strips of white paint the shower walls, and then heaves a few deep breath until his legs stop trembling.

They're gone by the time he gets out of the shower, and Peter is grateful that he doesn't have to try to study while listening to that.

-

The next time is almost two weeks later, and this time, he comes home and walks into the kitchen to find Chris' bare ass on the counter as John's hand jacks him, and Peter feels like he's going to tear his hair out in frustration. He just spins on his heel and goes into his room and turns the radio up. He tries very hard to concentrate on his paper, but he thinks about John's hand on Chris, thinks about licking up from underneath as John brings Chris over the edge, thinks about putting his mouth on Chris' cock and tasting him, thinks about having John inside him while he blows Chris, and great, now Peter's hard and there's no way this is going down any time soon.

So he climbs into his bed and lays on his back, lets his eyes slip closed and lets himself imagine the two of them in here with him, strokes his cock slowly as he builds the scenario, biting back moans because they're right out there and he needs to be quiet.

He's so quiet that he hears the second the door opens, eyes flying wide as the two older boys fill the doorway. John and Chris exchange glances, and in the gloom Peter sees that Chris is naked – and hard. Peter can't help but bite his lower lip as his eyes seem glued to Chris' cock, and he hears John chuckle.

“You want him to fuck you, don't you Peter?”

Peter manages to tear his eyes away, and he starts to bluster a negative response, but John strides across the room and yanks his covers back. There's no denying what he's been doing, his hand is still holding onto his length, but he manages to arch a brow up at John.

“What makes you think – ” he starts, but Chris interrupts him.

“We heard you the other day. In the shower. You were saying my name.”

Peter flushes dark red and looks down, but his dick twitches and that seems to be all the encouragement that John needs because his hand joins Peter's and starts moving. All Peter can do is watch, barely hearing Johns soft murmurs, telling him how gorgeous he looks like this, and how amazing it's going to feel to have Chris inside him.

John tugs him onto his side, never ceasing with the stroking, and hooks Peter's leg over his arm. He gasps as he feels a cold finger tease around the tight pucker of his entrance, but John gets his attention.

“C'mere, sweetheart,” John says gently, “Get my dick out, I want to see that sweet mouth on it.” Peter's hands are shaking as he reaches out and unzips John's jeans, eyes widening at the size of him, darting an uneasy glance up.

“Don't worry, baby,” John soothes, “You don't have to take it all today.” He presses forward, slides the blunt head of his cock along Peter's lips and then inside as Peter parts them.

Chris slides his finger inside Peter at the same moment and the younger boy moans around John's dick. “Shh, that's it, such a good boy for us, aren't you, Peter?”

Peter's incapable of response. He's focused on the dual sensation of the finger – now two fingers – inside him, twisting and stretching, and the taste of John in his mouth, the heavy weight on his tongue as John holds Peter still and slides himself back and forth.  
“Suck a little, pretty boy,” he tells Peter, and the younger boy mindlessly obeys, lifts his eyes to look up at John as he hollows out his cheeks, then groans again as Chris adds a third finger.

John fucks his face nice and slow, watching what Chris is doing, waits until Chris gives him a nod, and then he pushes his cock inside Peter's mouth as far as he can go. The younger boy's eyes fly open again in surprise, and John pets his face softly. “You can take it, gorgeous, just relax your throat.”

Peter tries, does his best, but then Chris is pushing into him, not just filling him up but splitting him in two, and his whole body tenses up.

They takes turns soothing him and pressing in further until Peter's absolutely filled with both of them, and things go a little hazy after that because there's _so much sensation_ and he knows that he comes with John's cock buried in his throat, and Chris fucking hard into him from behind, but after that he has no idea. He thinks he might have blacked out or something because the next thing he knows, it's John taking him from behind, and his cheek is pressed up against Chris' chest, the older boy jacking himself off as he watches John fuck Peter.

Peter feels the splashes of come hit his stomach just a few seconds before John grunts and pulses inside him, and he can't help but gasp as John pulls out, and a rush of fluids follows, trickling down the curve of Peter's ass.

John scoops his come up and rubs it into Peter's skin, as Chris does the same thing in the front.

“Now you belong to us,” is that last thing Peter hears before he falls into an exhausted sleep, wrapped in both sets of strong arms.


	37. Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I need a child’s birthday present? It’s my cousin’s sister's child, I have no idea what they like but I think maybe it’s a girl can you help au
> 
> Tags: Kitchen Sex, Shower Sex, Inappropriate Use Of Olive Oil

“I have a niece – ” Peter starts, and then pauses as Fluffy comes barreling out of the apartment, gets on his hind-legs and starts licking Peter's kneecap. He blinks down at the dog, and then back up at Chris.

“Congratulations?” Chris' hair is sticking up on one side, and his face is still bearing the imprint of wrinkled sheets.

Peter checks his watch. One o'clock in the afternoon. “Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day, are you sick? And no, she's not a new niece or rather not really new anymore, but it's her birthday, she's five or six...or was it seven? Anyway, do you need soup or something?”

Chris watches Peter blearily as he brushes past the older man and goes into his kitchen, starts pulling out ingredients.

“Peter. I'm not sick. I took a nap. Why are you telling me about your niece?”

Peter opens his mouth to explain when he feels a hot wetness across his calf and blinks to see – yep, Fluffy has peed on him.

“Oh fuck, I forgot to take him out earlier.”

“Apparently,” Peter says, glowering down at the pup, who yips at him, runs a circle around Peter, and then vanishes into the bedroom.

“Here, take that off, I'll grab something for you to change into.” Chris disappears after Fluffy, and Peter, grumbling, takes his _designer_ jeans off, stands awkwardly in someone else' kitchen in his underwear, holding soiled pants.

It's really not his day.

Chris comes back with a wet rag and some sweatpants, and Peter's jeans and socks go into the wash while he wipes himself clean, and then – with a grimace of distaste – gets into Chris' pants. They're too long and drag on the floor, and of course, are supremely unflattering, but they seem to do something to Chris, by the way his pupils dilate as he looks at Peter in his clothing.

Peter ends up wearing the sweatpants for a record ten minutes before Chris is tugging them down and bending Peter over the counter.

It's not that Peter minds, it's just that there was something – And then Chris swipes his tongue along the cleft of Peter's ass and all thoughts fly out of his head as Chris eats him out for what seems like hours, just so thoroughly that Peter is whimpering and begging for Chris to _fuck him already_.

But Chris pulls back, starts rummaging in drawers, and Peter blinks blearily over his shoulder.

“Christopher?” he queries.

“Lube,” Chris snaps and then looks around wildly, grabs the olive oil from beside the stove.

“Uh, I don't think – ”

“Shut up, Peter,” Chris says, and buries his face back into Peter. He finds he cannot argue with Chris anymore, can't even recall what the issues was, and Peter' thinks he's going to come from Chris' tongue alone.

But soon enough two slick fingers replaces that clever tongue and Chris blankets his body over Peter, slides the hot band of his cock along Peter's thigh as he preps the younger man. It's quick though, because Chris is nearly as anxious as he is, and Peter hisses a little as Chris pushes into him, but the burn soon turns into a pleasant warmth, then stoked into a fire as Chris starts fucking him hard. Peter curls his hands over the edge of the counter and hangs on as Chris slams into him, and he realizes that he's babbling, but whatever he's saying works, because Chris' large hand finds his aching and neglected cock and starts stroking him in time to the thrusts.

After that, it's no time at all before Peter explodes into orgasm, clenching tightly around Chris as he comes, spilling over the older man's hand and the side of the counter. Chris soon follows him over that cliff and he groans against Peter's neck as his cock pulses inside the other man.

After Peter catches his breath, he turns around with an eyebrow arched. “Really, Christopher? Olive oil?”

“It worked,” Chris grunts, and then points imperiously to the bathroom. “Shower.”

They take long enough of a shower that they can get each other off again, this time with soapy hands around their pressed together cocks, and by the time they get out of the – now cold – shower, Peter is exhausted. He sinks down onto Chris couch and stifles a yawn while Chris orders them dinner.

It's over Thai food that Peter recalls his reason for stopping by and groans. “Dammit, I forgot about the gift.”

“You don't have to buy me gifts,” Chris says and Peter flicks a piece of bok choy at him.

“No, you idiot, one of my sister's kids is having a birthday and for some reason I'm invited?” Peter shrugs and chews another bite contemplatively. “Anyway, I have to get her – pretty sure it's a her – some sort of present.”

Chris furrows a brow. “How long has it been since you've seen her?”

“The kid, or my sister?”

“Either.”

“Seven or eight years, give or take.”

“And how old is the kid?”

Peter ponders. “Slightly younger than that?”

Chris puts his forehead in his hand and sighs. “You're going to have to make a good first impression then.”

Peter shrugs a shoulder and reaches for another carton. Chris takes it from his hands. “Oh no, you don't. Get dressed. We're going shopping.”

Peter narrows his eyes, but since that's actually why he came to see Chris – not to get fucked using olive oil – he does as requested.

They hop in Chris' truck because he's apparently not going to be seen in a hybrid, and head to the local toy store. Chris gets a cart and unloads everything Frozen he can find into it. Peter eyes the heap dubiously, but hands over his credit card.

Turns out Chris is some sort of little girl present choosing guru, because he becomes Cora's favorite instantly and he can't get rid of her the whole weekend.

He stops by to say thank you to Chris – and brings him a bottle of high end olive oil as a gift.

 


	38. Yoga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: yoga class au
> 
> Tags: Inappropriate Use of Baby Oil, Serious Lack of Actual Yoga

“It'll be fun, dad,” Chris mutters sarcastically as he stares at the twelve women who are all staring back. “Lots of older guys do yoga.”

Suddenly they all look away as one and go back to their individual conversations. Chris slinks to the back of the room, thinking that he'll get through this one session so that he can tell Allison he tried it, and then never darken its doors again.

And then the instructor walks in.

Every predatory instinct in Chris body hones in on the guy and instantly he can think of at least twenty things he wants to do to him, starting with marking up that thick neck while tearing off that ridiculously low cut v-neck.

Seriously, why even bother to wear a shirt at all.

He seems to know that he's the subject of admiration, and not just by Chris, because he fucking preens and does some stretches that Chris is convinced are just made up to show this guy's admittedly fantastic body off.

And then the class is starting, the women flowing from position to position and Chris thought he was in pretty good shape but he's not flexible in the least, so he does the best he can and studies the instructor – Peter, he'd introduced himself as – when he can't do the move.

After what seems like two hours, not half of one, the class is over, and Peter walks – no, that smug bastard _saunters_ – over to Chris.

“You know, the beginners classes are in the mornings.”

Chris crosses his arms. “This fits into my schedule.”

Peter furrows a brow as he eyes skate ever so briefly across Chris' bicep. “You can really hurt yourself jumping in to an advanced class. I do have private lesson times available if you can't make the beginners.”

Chris tries very hard not to think about private lesson time too in-depth, just nods briefly and goes down to the secretary, finds a one-hour slot that works for him, and signs up.

The next Tuesday, he shows up about ten minutes early, and is ushered into a small, windowless room. He waits somewhat patiently – meaning not at all – pacing the confines of the room until Peter sweeps through the door. Chris turns and his eyes are immediately drawn to Peter's shirt which is impossibly lower cut than the previous one.

“Where do you even get those?” he blurts before he can censor himself, making a vague hand-wavey gesture at Peter's shirt.

Peter arches a brow and glances down, then smirks with amusement as he looks back up. “Oh is that why you had such trouble last week?” He steps closer. “Having trouble concentrating?”

He swears Peter is almost purring as he comes closer yet, and in such a small space, Chris can only step back once, and then his back is against the wall.

Peter is shameless, just keeps moving forward until he's pressed against Chris' body and oh the smug chuckle when he feels that Chris is half-hard already. “So that's why you booked a private session,” Peter grins, and Chris _needs_ to wipe that smirk off his face.

He's not even really thinking about it, just wraps his hand around Peter's throat and spins them, so that he's the one who's pinning Peter against the wall, and he growls low into the yoga instructor's ear.

“You're the one walking around in pants that are so tight you might as well not be wearing them, and a shirt so low-cut you can see everything.”

Peter's not intimidated in the least, just rolls his hips forward, sliding the hard line of his dick along Chris'. “And apparently, you like what you see, Christopher.”

Chris' hand slides down and curls around the tight muscle of Peter's ass, and Peter lifts his legs up, wraps them around Chris' waist.

Chris crushes his mouth down onto Peter's, while the yoga instructor slides his hand down and tugs Chris' cock out of his sweatpants. Chris' groans are swallowed by the demanding kisses from Peter, and all he can do is thrust his hips forward, fucking through the tunnel of Peter's hand.

But that's not what Peter wants, he wants the hot thickness inside him, so he breathlessly tugs himself away from that mouth.

“Floor,” he demands, and it takes him saying it three times for Chris to reluctantly back off, but he doesn’t let go of Peter, just turns and lowers him to the mat.

“Bag,” Peter points, and Chris growls but reaches for it, arches a brow as Peter pulls out a bottle.

“Baby oil?” Chris snorts.

“It'll work,” Peter arches a brow. “Unless you'd rather wait.” He bucks up against Chris once more, causing a low groan from Chris, and he grips the bottle tightly.

“Fine,” is all he says, and he slicks up his hand, wrinkling his nose at the scent, as Peter peels off his yoga pants.

Peter hooks his knees over Chris' shoulders as the older man's finger tease at him, prepping him gently, for all their urgency, as he gazes over Peter's body.

“Pull your shirt up,” he demands, “I want to see it all.”

And it's worth seeing. Peter is in exquisite shape, and Chris can't help but lean in as he slides two fingers inside the yoga instructor, and trail hot, sucking kisses along that perfect torso, scissoring his fingers open as he latches onto one of Peter's nipples.

Peter arches beneath him, and Chris chuckles against his chest. “Oh, you're sensitive there, are you?”

And he slides a third finger into Peter as he begins to relentlessly tease at the younger man's nipples with lips teeth and tongue.

By the time he's ready, Peter's lost all smugness, and now he's just writhing below Chris, pleading with Chris, and finally he gives Peter what he wants, and slides home, bottoming out in one thrust, bending Peter fully in half.

It's fortunate that Peter is flexible, because Chris fucks him just like that, pinning his arms above his head and just slamming into him over and over, and Peter's _not getting enough friction_.

He whimpers and tries to arch up, but Chris is pinning him down, and doesn't let up, fucks Peter hard until he falls into orgasm, pushing fully into Peter and clinging tightly to the younger man as Chris fills him with come.

Only then does he reach out for the forgotten bottle of baby oil and slick his hand up once more, curl it around Peter's neglected cock, and brings him off. Chris watches his face the entire time, stays deep within Peter so he can feel him go over that precipice, and only pulls away once Peter has finished shaking with aftershocks.

Chris digs through Peter's yoga bag and finds some wipes, cleans himself up, and then tugs his sweats back up, sitting down on the mat and leaning against the wall as Peter puts himself back together. Once Peter's done, he glances at the wall, and grins slowly at Chris.

The older man arches a brow.

“We still have twenty minutes left of our time, Christopher. Just enough to teach you some preliminary stretches.”

 

 


	39. Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mountain Man AU
> 
> Tags: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Somnophilia, Underage

Peter sighs into his mug of cocoa. He's curled in front of the fire at the ski lodge. Alone. The whole family is out on the slopes, but Peter had wanted to distance himself from them, had wanted to be on his own, maybe strike up a conversation with one of the gorgeous women or men milling about.

Unlike some of the stories about ski lodges that he'd read, not one person approaches him, and there's remarkably little happening in the way of group orgies. Maybe those are at night.

Either way, nothing is happening to Peter, and he's bored and annoyed and alone. He has the urge to go back to their rooms, but then he'd be roped into watching the baby so that Aunt Clara can go skiing. Peter's seventeen years old, for goodness sake, he should be out having adventures. Like his niece Laura, one year younger, but away for a year in New York City.

Peter sulks for another half hour, slowly sipping at his cocoa, but even the long list of grievances he's got with his guardian and big sister bores him after a while, and he sighs and decides to get on his ski stuff and go join his family. If he's lucky, he'll be able to integrate with one group, and let it seem as if he's been with another group all this time.

Peter sneaks into his rooms, and gets his things, sneaks right past peacefully sleeping Cora and the not so peacefully snoring Aunt Clara, and gets himself dressed for the snow. He thinks maybe they should give some consideration to design on this stuff, because it's hardly flattering, even to someone as good-looking as Peter.

At least he won't be any worse off than anyone else.

As soon as he's outfitted, Peter slips out, eschewing the maps at the front desk. He's too smart to get lost at a family ski resort. He finds the bunny hill just fine, watches idly as his younger cousins giggle with glee as they go down the slight slope, and then he decides to skip the sightseeing and just head for the one they call the Monster. Peter has excellent reflexes, how hard can skiing be after all?

He never gets the chance to try the Monster, because he takes a wrong turn or something and ends up in a thick patch of woods.

Peter's not really worried, he knows that the resort is directly behind him and he can just go back that way if he needs to. The woods are comforting, Peter feels like he can breathe in their quiet stillness, and he settles down on a fallen log when he's weary of walking, and – snug and warm in his ski outfit – Peter falls asleep.

-

He wakes up face-first on the ground in the solid darkness, confused and disoriented. He pushes up and looks around, but he can't remember what way is the way back to the lodge. There's a full moon out tonight, and so Peter can see a bit, but he doesn't know how to use the stars. And he knows no one back at the hotel will be looking for him. They all think that he's with someone else.

Well, just sitting here won't get him anywhere.

Peter rises, brushes himself off, and considers his options. He's just about to choose a direction in which to set off, when he hears a soft scuffing noise and freezes.

“Well, ain't you a pretty one,” come a deep rumble from the darkness. Peter crouches against a tree and looks wildly around. A man – judging by the voice – steps into a patch of light, and he's covered in fur from head to toe.

“Hello,” Peter says, rising and lifting his chin in defiance of his fear. “I'm lost. Can you help me get back to the ski lodge.”

“My cabin's just a half-mile away,” the guy says, “Lets get you warmed up first.”

It seems like a reasonable statement to Peter, and the cold is finally beginning to cut through the layers of ugly snow gear, so he nods and trudges along behind the man. The cabin is just where he's said it is, and it's warm and inviting, and Peter relaxes into a chair as the guy – Chris, he's said his name was – takes his overcoat and snow pants and boots, to set near the fire. He covers Peter up in a warm blanket as he curls into a chair, the only piece of furniture in the place beside the massive bed, and gives him a mug of soup to warm his insides.

“There you go, Peter,” he says, twinkling blue eyes soft as he reaches out and slides his thumb across Peter's smooth cheek, a contrast to his own thickly bearded one. “Just get some rest.”

Peter does feels tired for some reason – even though he'd slept in the woods – and he's warm and safe, so he nods and closes his eyes, fades once more into slumber.

-

Peter wakes to an uncomfortable feeling the soon resolves into awareness that there's a finger wriggling inside him, and he starts in surprise, tries to move away, to turn and see what happening, but he's held fast by ropes around his wrists and a strong arm around his midsection.

He tries to say something, tries to scream, to demand release, but all he can do is make gurgling noises around the thing that's shoved in his mouth.

“Hush, pretty boy, you gonna learn to like it real soon.” Chris leans in and sucks a hickey into the crook of Peter's neck and he tries to wriggle away from it, but he's held fast. Peter absolutely denies the tendril of warmth that rush along his spine at the feeling of the man's lips on his, of his thick beard scratching along Peter's skin.

And then another fingers is added to the one inside him and it hurts and he whines into the gag, but then Chris twists his fingers and curls them, and then Peter feels something he's never felt before, and his dick takes notice, starts to plump and fill out and he hears the chuckle as Chris presses closer.

“That's it, that's my boy.” Chris' chest presses against Peter' back and he feels a hard band of heat along his thigh, and he knows exactly what that has to be, and Peter renews his fighting.

Chris just laughs at him as he pulls his fingers free of the boy, slicks up his cock with the same substance and then slides it between the cheeks of Peter's ass. He fucks through that cleft a few times until it's all slick and slippery, and then slowly pushes into Peter, makes room for himself in that tight, hot tunnel. Peter's crying now, tears flowing down pale cheeks as the older man splits him in to, keeps pushing and pushing until his hips rest against Peter's backside.

He slides his hand around and wraps it – still slick – around Peter's dick, and he doesn’t want to be a part of this, doesn't want this to happen, but the stretching burn behind is fading into something pleasant, and Chris knows what he's doing. Peter's brought to the edge of orgasm in far too short a time, and Chris keeps him there as he pulls out slowly, and then pushes back in at the same speed.

“You only come on my cock, pretty boy,” he says before shifting so that he's hitting that sweet spot inside Peter, moving his hand just so, and Peter falls over that edge.

Crying out into his gag, he comes in Chris' hand. Chris murmurs praises for his good boy as he lifts the evidence in front of Peter's face.

“Knew you'd like it, baby boy,” he says, and smears Peter's come across his face, so that he smells his own fluids as Chris starts fucking him hard. Chris grunts as he comes, fills the boy with his seed, and then presses soft kisses along Peter's shoulders and neck.

“So good for me, pretty,” he says, and then rocks his hips one last time before pulling out, swiftly replacing his cock with something smaller, but harder. “Gonna keep you full of me, baby,” Chris says as he rolls out of the bed. “Forever.”

He pads over to the fireplace and settles down beside it as Peter cries into the pillow.

 

 


	40. Pastry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: bakery au

“Try this.” Peter brings out an apple pastry and settles it down triumphantly in front of Chris, nods encouragingly when Chris peers at the offering like it's a snake about to bite him.

Chris heaves a sigh like he's facing the firing squad and then gingerly pick up the treat and takes a tiny bite of it.

“Well?” Peter says impatiently.

“It's...alright..” Chris answers finally, tries not to grimace as he washes the sticky sweetness away with a drought of his black coffee.

Without another word, Peter sweeps away in a huff, heads back to the back room, no doubt to return to the drawing board on his unending quest to find something that Chris likes.

Chris waits until he's sure Peter can't see him, then casually folds the pastry in a napkin and tucks it into his pocket. He finishes his coffee, then casually wanders out, heads up the street to his motorcycle repair shop.

Chris unlocks the door, settles behind his desk, tugs the only partially crumbled pastry from his pocket and slowly savors it.

Peter Hale is a hell of a pastry chef.

Chris finishes, licks his fingers clean, and then makes a mark on his day planner, then counts all of the marks. Thirty-six. Thirty-six days of free pastries.

McCall pokes his head in the door and flashes a grin. “Got another one, boss?”

Chris nods smugly. “Never fails.”

Scott shakes his head and then turns to look over his shoulder, and then does a double-take. He's just staring like an idiot, so Chris gets up and brushes past him.

“Help you?” Chris says.

The guy smiles and Scott drops a box of screws. Chris arches a brow as one rolls past his feet, and darts a quick glare to Scott before looking back to the customer.

“Yeah, I'm just in town visiting family, and the bike starts making this odd noise, and normally I'd wait until my guy can look at it, but Boyd tells me you're alright. I'm real picky about who puts his hands on her y'know?”

Chris follows the guy – Derek, he introduces himself as – outside and they talk a while, and Chris assures him that he'll do his utmost for Derek's baby. They talk price and time, and Derek says he's just gonna pop into his uncle's shop down the way and wait.

It's Scott who finds the source of the rattle, checking over every inch of the motorcycle almost reverently, and they get it fixed in no time.

Derek returns with a box of pastries from Peter's shop, and Scott, after actually blushing when Chris had told Derek who fixed the bike, and he sit down to eat their unexpected bounty. Chris has taken only a half a bite before Peter Hale himself comes pushing through the door, and he's got a tray in his hand that's still steaming from the oven.

“Derek didn't tell me those were for you,” he grumbles and takes their box of treats away, settling the tray down, and it's a full try of about thirty pastries on it. “There. You'll like those,” he insists, and then sweeps out just as suddenly as he'd come in.

Chris and Scott blink at each other and then grin slowly. “Y'know, I'm real fond of those Hales,” Chris says a few pastries later when he looks at the check and finds that Derek has added a bit of a bonus on it for them.

Scott, of course, has eaten twice the pastries that Chris has and he's leaning back in his chair rubbing his stomach and groaning.

Erica and Allison wander in and help themselves, and then – after Scott tells the the whole story – they have an argument about which Hale is hotter. Chris recuses himself from the conversation and heads out to grab one of the bikes waiting to be fixed.

-

Chris rises and wipes his forehead with the shirt he'd take off a while back and tucked in his back pocket, turning suddenly when he hears a crash.

“Dammit, Scott, why are you so clumsy today – Oh. Not Scott. Hello, P – Uh, Hale.”

Peter rights the cart that he'd knocked over and crosses his arms, resume the angry glare he's had reserved for Chris since that first day that Chris has panned his creations. “You gave my pastries away to your employees.”

Chris glances to where Scott and Erica are apparently throwing a party. They're his only two employees, but of course his daughter's in there – and Stiles and Boyd have appeared from somewhere. The siren call of free food no doubt. Also, there's two other kids he doesn't know. And Derek. He thought Derek had left hours ago?

Chris looks back at Peter when he clears his throat and realizes that he never answered. “Oh, uh, yeah. Well, I told you I wasn't a real big fan of pastries the first day you demanded I try one.”

“Then I will cook you dinner,” Peter says, points a finger imperiously at Chris. “Seven p.m.” He sniffs. “And take a shower.”

Chris arches a brow, shakes his head, and shrugs. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Seven is fine. I got work to do.” He turns his back on Peter and bends over to pick up his roll of wrenches.

Peter knocks over a bucket of bolts on his way out.

 


	41. The Boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: one night stand turns out to be your new boss AU

Chris groans as he wakes up, head ringing – oh no, that's just the alarm. Right, first day at Hale Enterprises. Chris is taking over the CFO spot today and he'd better get his ass up and ready. He flops over thinking, maybe five more minutes, and comes face to face with someone. Someone gorgeous and still very asleep. And then the memory comes rushing back to him. Going out for a drink to celebrate. A couple drinks turns into enough that he can't recall his own name, much less the one the hot guy whispered to him as he was fucking him into the mattress.

Chris starts in surprise when the eyes open and they're beautiful.

“Thanks,” the guy says in a sleep rough voices and oh, Chris must have said that out loud. “Morning, Christopher,” he purrs out and then reaches for Chris, one hand skating along his side. And that does _things_ to him, but he's got to get ready for work, and so he's forced to send the guy packing.

It's not until twenty minutes later, in the middle of his shower, that Chris realizes he didn’t get the guy's name, much less his number. It's a damned shame too, because – from what he could recall – it had been some of the best sex of his life.

Still, it is what it is, and he's got to focus on other things.

-

Chris has gone through the tour, been introduced to just about everyone he needs to meet, and his new assistant is showing him to his office when the COO, John Stilinski, pokes his head in the door.

“Boss says lunch meeting. Specially to welcome you, Argent.”

Chris arches a brow at his assistant, but Lydia's already tapping away at her tablet and then nods her approval. “You have space for that, if you push the budget committee back to five-thirty.”

Keeping people after hours on his first day, not going to make him any friends, but it's the boss that he needs to impress first.

Considering a moment, Chris cants his head at Lydia. “Order dinner from somewhere middling nice, personal charge card.”

If she's as good as she's been billed to be, Lydia will somehow already have that. It seems she does, because Lydia just nods and makes the appropriate notes on her calendar.

“Coffee should be here in minute,” she says as he opens his mouth to ask if there's a coffeepot in the office.

Oh yes, she's that good.

A kid with a crooked jaw and a way-too-cheerful smile pops in with coffee, and Chris is startled to learn that this is his intern. He looks like he's twelve, but he got the coffee order right, so Chris shrugs off his disbelief.

Chris just takes his coffee and gets to work.

-

Just before lunch, Lydia knocks once and then comes in his office, hands him a comb and a toothbrush, and a tie.

Chris blinks at the items, then looks down at his tie.

“You spilled coffee, ran your hands through your hair twice, and it's always a good idea to go into a meeting with fresh breath.”

Chris watches Lydia walk away in amazement.

“Terrifying, isn't she?” says a voice fondly, comes from a skinny kid dotted with moles. Another intern he supposes, and Chris just nods and makes the appropriate adjustments before heading to the meeting.

John greets him with a friendly handshake, introduces him to Melissa and Alan and Natalie.

Chris is still shaking Natalie's hand when Peter Hale steps into the room, and, distracted by the entrance of last night's one night stand, he squeezes her hand a bit more tightly than is warranted. She takes it as flirtation and throws him a quick wink before she walks away.

He only has eyes for Peter, and maybe the CEO feels his gaze, because he turns around and for the longest three seconds of Chris' life, they just _stare_.

And then Peter cuts through the tension, holds his arms up and beams. “This must be our new Chief Financial Officer!,” he announces, and gives Chris a hearty handshake, then leans in and whispers. “My office, six o'clock.”

With that, Peter saunters past him and begins the meeting. And for a while, Chris is actually able to forget about last night, and recall why he had joined this company to begin with. Peter is brilliant and his team is a brain trust, perfectly suited to their positions.

It's only when he returns to his office and Lydia mentions that she's cut short his four-thirty and moved up his five-thirty to five, to make the six o'clock with Peter that he recalls. And he's once again surprised by Lydia.

“Natalie's my mother,” she says by way of explanation, and then resettles at her desk, dumping a box of unopened chocolates into the garbage basket.

Chris glances at the chocolates and Lydia catches it.

“Too cheap,” she says dismissively.

Chris shakes his head and shuts himself in his office.

The five o'clock goes well, especially since Lydia has provided each ember of his team with their favorite dish from several different restaurants. Chris doesn't eat, too nervous about the thing with Peter.

But he needn't have been.

When he walks into Peter's office, the CEO turns the blinds, shuts and locks the door, and then grabs Chris' tie and pulls him close.

“Well that was a very pleasant surprise,” Peter murmurs, “and I've been thinking about you bending me over my desk all day.”

Chris is only human, and Peter is very convincing. They end up going at it twice, and then finding a change of clothes for each of them, as well as some light snacks sitting outside Peter's office door.

Peter just laughs and sends Lydia some custom-made chocolates.

 


	42. Corps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ~~marching band~~ _drum corps_ AU
> 
> Tags: Bullying, Blow Jobs

Chris Argent twirls a drumstick in his fingers as he watches the try-outs with the rest of the percs, pointing out which ones are going to get cut. There's fifty of them, and only two spots open. Odds are given bets are cast, and they spend the rest of the hour making fun of the kids sweating down on the field.

Then it's time for sectionals, and Chris leads his section out of the stands and to the nearby field they've got the pit set up on.

“Blue Cadence,” Chris calls out, flashes a grin. “Double time.”

None of his percs are new, so they all know it, and soon they're hammering it out, likely to the confusion and dread of the babies on the field, wondering how they're supposed to march to this.

Chris lifts his left hand in a series of signals, and the drumline smoothly transitions into the syncopated jazz rhythm from a show they'd done last year, sure to fuck the kids up again, as it's damned difficult to keep a rhythm to.

Before he gets in trouble from the director, Chris moves them on into learning the new show, prepared to act innocent on the off chance that someone comes to check on them. No one does. Percs are often a law unto themselves.

Chris hands out water bottles – contraband, they're not allowed – and they all get hydrated, because it's hot as shit with the sun reflecting off the silver of the drums right in your face. Everyone's already got matching sunglasses. And so, when the whistle signals full corps attendance required, that's how they arrive, cool and rested, all in sunglasses.

The director narrows his eyes at them, but they're damned good at what they do, and never cause him any trouble, so he just snorts and moves on.

His traditional welcoming speech is lengthy and Chris has been hearing it since he was fourteen – this is his last year, he's about to age out. He tunes it out and counts the newbies, they're already down twelve. He sees a couple of the ones he'd bet against still in the running and considers changing his bet.

Chris snaps his attention back to his line as the director lifts his hand, and here they go, running through the music.

They've been doing musical tryouts this week, but Chris hasn't paid much attention to that. None of his crew is gonna challenge him for first chair. But apparently there's a bit of a shake-up in the trumpet section, because one of the new kids steps into that spot, saunters up front for the solo that traditionally only goes to the number one spot.

Chris arches a brow at John behind him – the sousa first chair – who just shrugs. And then he hears it. The kid is killing it, it's fucking gorgeous. And Chris knows he's just got the music a couple days ago- it's a piece especially commissioned just for the corps.

John gives a low whistle and Chris nods his agreement. There's no applause as he smugly returns to his spot, but there's a new appraisal in everyone's eyes.

Chris thinks the kid needs to be taken down a peg.

-

“Peter Hale,” a voice drawls, and the person in question turns around, eyebrow arched to see the percussion first chair looking down on him. “Nice job on that solo.”

Peter nods in agreement. “That's why I'm first chair.” And then walks away. Or tries to, because the older boy grabs a fistful of his shirt and spins him around.

“You're awful cocky – even for a trumpet. Better watch yourself.”

Peter snorts in derision. “You think I'm afraid of you, old man? You're so slow on the field, they're gonna have to get you a walker or you'll never make it to your spot.”

Chris grinds his teeth and narrows his eyes as Peter walks away – and vows that he will wipe that smirk off Peter Hale's face.

-

Chris pays off Peter's roommate with some beer to vacate the premises for the night and give Chris his key. When Peter comes home, Chris is waiting. He steps from the darkness, all menace in leather and chains, and shoves Peter's back against the door.

“I have had enough of your shit, Hale, acting like you're something special – ” And Chris has a whole rant ready, just tearing Peter to shreds, but the kid interrupts Chris, smirks up at him and says something so stupid that it makes Chris' brain stutter to a stop.

“I _knew_ you wanted me,” Peter says, reaching his hand out to curl into one of Chris' belt loops and pulling him close. Chris, still befuddled by the statement and sputtering protestations, finds himself flush against Peter's body, and then when he starts rubbing himself on Chris...things down south start to take interest.

“I do _not_ ,” Chris manages eventually, but he's half-hard against Peter, and then when the younger boy's hands tug down his zip and slide into his pants, well, now Chris can't even remember what he was going to say.

Once Peter goes to his knees, and wraps his lips around Chris' cock, well, Chris can't even recall his own name. And Chris has had blow-jobs before, okay, he's nearly twenty-two, but this is by far the best one ever, and Chris vaguely recalls one of the euphoniums saying something about brass players and their tongue once, and Peter is proving every rumor true.

Chris can't even think to do anything other than rest one hand on the door, and the curving across the back of Peter's head. He's always felt powerful when receiving head, but this time it feels like Peter is taking him apart, tearing him into pieces.

Peter swallows when Chris comes, and suckles a little bit longer, before pulling back and licking his lips. Chris' breath is heaving and he's feeling dazed when Peter tucks him back in and zips him up, and somehow he finds himself in the hallway, the roommate's key left inside.

Chris blinks a few times, vows to never tell anyone about this ever, and slinks back to his own room.

 


	43. Here There Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: dragonrider AU
> 
> Tags: Dragons, Non-Con

Chris Argent's journey has been long. Only son of one of the most famous dragonriders that ever lived, he's been expected to surpass his father's greatness. But year after year he's come up empty-handed at the end of the hunting season, eschewing easier prey in search of a dragon worth his time.

His failures had never burned so brightly as when his sister returned with a bright blue dragon, nearly of a size to Lord Gerard's red. She would not give her secret to him, tell him where he might capture his own dragon, though she did make vague allusions to the north.

And so north he had traveled.

Journeying long, Chris had reached the end of the hunting season, empty-handed once more. Still, he pressed on, for he must at least find the area where Kate had claimed her dragon, that he may return next spring. There would be no dragons about, but he's certain he can read the signs of what surely was a great scuffle.

Unfortunately, the snows come early, and Chris is left huddled under the lee of a rock, hastily unfurled cloak wrapped around him while he waits out the storm.

It's there that some peasants find him, two days later, nearly froze to death. Recognizing the quality of his cloth, they take him to a large building, no doubt the magistrate or the like, and usher him inside.

Chris slips closer to the merrily burning fire, studying the curious designs hewn within the obsidian blocks.

“Dragons,” a silky voice comes from behind him, and a man steps into the antechamber where Chris has been bid wait. “Part of my family crest.”

Chris arches a brow, but sketches a bow, because this is obviously a wealthy lord. “Forgive my trespass, some villagers found me – ”

“Yes, yes,” the lord interrupts, walking around Chris and studying him oddly. “And brought you to me to deal with.” He leans in and sniffs delicately at Chris, who shies back a step.

“My lord...?” he enquires and the man shakes his head.

“Ah yes, pleasantries must be observed. Forgive me, I do not get much company here, and I've recently...lost...my nephew. I am Lord Peter Hale.”

“Sir Christopher Argent,” Chris introduces himself. “And my condolences.”

Hale inclines his head and orders some hot food brought for the still shivering man. After dinner, Chris is shown to a room by the Lord himself, where there is a bath waiting, and a bed with hot stone inserted beneath the covers to keep it warm.

“My most gracious thanks,” Chris says, and is treated to a strange smile by the other man.

-

Chris has the strangest dreams that night, dreams of heat and passion and burning fire and when he awakens, he finds he has spilled his seed in his sleep. More than once if the amounts is anything to go by. He furrows a brow, it's most curious as he hasn't done since his youth, but Chris shrugs it off as being of no importance.

He uses the pitcher and cloth beside his bed to clean himself off, and then dresses himself in his second set of traveling clothes, before going in search of his breakfast – and his host to say goodbye.

But the entire keep is empty, servants gone, rooms unfurnished, as if everything has vanished into mist while he slept.

It's entirely odd, and Chris returns to his room and packs up his things, thinking that he'll be grateful to get away from this strange land.

And then he steps outside to see a great dragon, easily topping his father's Talia, not red as she is but a deep glistening black, scales like onyx mirrors. Chris is so amazed by the creature's beauty that he finds himself touching, stroking his hand along the massive head, before one eyes slowly opens, and pins Chris in its sights.

“ _You were not a virgin_ ,” a voice sounds in his head, sounding eerily like the Lord whose castle this is. Only, as Chris turns to look over his shoulder, there is no castle. It has gone, blown into ash like the illusion that it was.

“No,” Chris responds aloud after a moment staring at the empty field, and then returns his attention to the dragon. “You were Lord Peter?”

“ _I was_ ,” the dragon confirms, “ _now under your control, you sorry excuse for a knight. I don't understand how you fooled me._ ” He sounds like he's...sulking?

Chris arches a brow and then tugs forth the amulet that his sister had given to him. He holds it up before the dragon, and the great head shies back.

“ _Fucking witches_ ,” the dragon snarls and then lowers his head once more. “ _Well, now what_?” he demands peevishly, and Chris tilts his head.

“Can you be Lord Peter once again?”

“ _If you so command it_ ,” the dragons responds reluctantly.

“I do,” replies Chris, and within a heartbeat, the Lord stands there once more, arms cross and eyes glaring daggers at Chris, who reaches out and pulls him close. “You came to me last night.”

“I did,” Peter says, shoving back ineffectually at the hold. “Lured by that amulet, fooled into thinking you were unable to trap me, you son of a bitch.”

Chris grins slowly. “But now you're completely under my control?”

Peter sets his jaw, but nods after an inner struggle against the compulsion.

“Then return to dragon form, my beautiful boy, and I shall ride you home.”

Peter does so, suffers Chris straddling his neck just before the wings, but he keeps up a steady stream of abuse and insults as he wings his way south.

Chris allows this for the moment. There's plenty of time in which to train his dragon.


	44. Exam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doctor/Patient au
> 
> Tags: Non-Con, Medical Kink, Gags, Anal Fingering, Non-Con Bondage, Forced Orgasm, Underage

Tomorrow is Peter Hale's eighteenth birthday, and he will _finally_ get the bite, that magical transition that will put him on an even playing field with the rest of his family.

Talia has insisted that he gets a clean bill of health beforehand, before she freezes his body in stasis as it is. So here Peter is, the last patient of the day, because it's the only time Dr. Argent can fit him in.

“Peter Hale?” the nurse calls, and escorts him into a back room, asks him to strip completely, which, weird, but whatever it takes to get that power.

He tucks that flimsy paper hospital gown around his lap, the paper doing nothing to protect him from the chill of the table as he settles upon it.

Peter waits for what seems like forever until there's a soft tap, and Dr. Argent strides in the room. And he's gorgeous. Peter hadn't been expecting this, and he's so distracted by it, that he misses Argent's first question.

“Hm?” he has to repeat, but lifts his chin to show that he's not embarrassed or anything.

“You're Talia's brother?” he repeats, and Peter nods in the affirmative. “Excellent, she's given me specific instructions to be very thorough with your exam today.”

Peter resists rolling his eyes. Leave it to Talia to phone ahead to enforce her will.

“We need to test all of your reflexes, and some of those tests might seem strange, but they're essential to the role Talia has prepared for you in the Pack.”

Peter nods eagerly. “I'm aware, lets just get on with it.”

The doctor arches a brow but nods, makes a notation on his chart. “On your back,” he orders, and Peter gets a weird twist in his stomach as he does so. Dr. Argent nods to a pole stretching across the top of the exam table. “Hold onto that bar and pull yourself upward three times.”

Peter reaches up and does what Argent requires, waiting for him to make his marks in the folder. Dr. Argent then reaches up and lowers another bar, does something else, and then requests Peter repeat the maneuver. He does it again, and realizes that it's making the gown over his legs ride up, and automatically reaches down to tug it back over his thighs – or he would, but his hands are securely fastened. He tugs at his arms a few times just to be certain before he starts panicking.

Dr. Argent presses his thumbs into Peter's neck, right over his adam's apple, and strokes down. “Settle down, it's there for a reason.”

Peter forces himself to relax, and then Argent runs a finger lightly across his armpit and he can't help but twitch away. The older man does it to the other side, and Peter reacts the same way.

“Are you testing whether I'm ticklish?” Peter snorts, and the doctor arches a brow at him.

“All your reflexes, Peter.” Still looking into Peter's eyes, Dr. Argent reaches out and thumbs Peter's right nipple, which produces a fairly strong reaction in the soon-to-be wolf, who shivers and twitches away. Argent makes a sound of approval and makes a note in his file, lifts his hand and flicks the other one, which sends a streak of electricity running through Peter.

“Ow,” he complains obligatorily, and the doctor snorts.

“That didn't hurt you, Peter.”

Peter opens his mouth to object, but the older man takes the opportunity to press something into Peter's mouth, something that keeps it wide open. He tries to say something around it, but he's just making muffled gurgles, and his hands aren't free to take it out.

The doctor casually walks over to the sink and washes his hands, and then returns to Peter's side. He takes one finger and places it on Peter's tongue. The teenager can taste the soap a little as Argent runs his finger along the mobile muscles, and then slides it into Peter's throat until he can't help but gag on it. Peter complains loudly – or would if he could, but the doctor pays him no mind, just repeats the procedure with two and then three fingers.

“Well done,” he says to Peter when he's finished, lifting the gown from Peter's lap and wiping his hands on it. Peter gurgles his disapproval.

The doctor brings about two horseshoe looking metal bars from the sides, and places one of Peter's feet in each one. He tries to pull them away, really not liking where this part is going, but Argent straps him in, chastising him lightly.

“Behave, Peter. You agreed to all of this.”

And then he puts on a pair of medical gloves and lifts Peter's dick up, weighing it in his hands and checking the foreskin. His other hand palms Peter's balls lightly, massaging them just a little, and Peter starts to feel real good down there.

“You a virgin, Peter?” Argent asks suddenly, intense blue eyes staring down into his. Peter lifts his chin in defiance of answering that question, but soon wilts under the weight of that stare. He nods once, eyes glittering with shame. It's not a thing he likes to admit, but he doesn't have much time for girls, wanting too badly to prove himself to Talia.

The doctor's hands gently cease their ministrations, and Peter feels a bit bereft. Until the older man returns with a bottle of blue goo that he quickly squeezes out onto his hands. Argent rubs them together a little to warm the substance up, and then gently slides one along Peter's cock. It seems to enjoy the attention, because with three strokes, it's nearly to full hardness. Chris makes a small noise of satisfaction, and then Peter feels the slick tip of a finger at his hole.

He shouts against the gag, but he can do nothing as that finger inexorably pushes into him until it's fully inserted. Peter closes his eyes, but that doesn't make it any better, because now he can really feel that Argent is wiggling and twisting his finger inside Peter.

The doctor adds another and it feels impossible to Peter that this is happening, and then Argent's fingers press into something that makes Peter's dick sit up and take notice, and now it's thick and heavy in the older man's hand.

Dr. Argent pumps his hand along Peter's shaft while massaging that sweet spot inside him, and Peter makes noises into the gag, trying to make him stop, trying to warn him what's about to happen, but he is paid no heed.

In less than ten minutes, Peter Hale comes all over his doctor's hand.

He expects it to be over now, but instead, a third finger is added inside him and pulled wide apart a handful of times before it withdraws.

The doctor snaps the gloves off, and then reaches for the front of his slacks, and unzips them, fishing out his own achingly hard cock. While Peter watches, wide-eyed, Argent rolls on a condom and steps toward him. And he's making noises of protests but the older man couldn't care less as he easily slides himself home, filling Peter up completely. The doctor leans forward and rolls his hips, and the slides three of his fingers into Peter's mouth as far as they'll go.

He fucks them into Peter's throat while he uses the teenager's slick hole for his own pleasure, eyes intent on the face below him. Argent's free hand goes to tormenting Peter's nipples, plucking and twisting and pulling in equal amounts until they're both red and puffy and swollen.

Only then does he grunt out his release, filling the rubber inside Peter and then heaving a great sigh when he pulls it out.

Argent ties it off and throws it away, tucks himself back and walks towards the younger man. He has one last surprise in store for Peter Hale.

The doctor levies a series of blows that will leave Peter with a reddened ass for a few days, continuing until he sees tears leaking from the teen's eyes.

“Yes,” Argent says at last, stepping back from Peter. “I think you'll do very well for what Talia has in mind for you.”

 


	45. Design

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: HGTV AU
> 
> Tags: Dub-Con, Hatesex, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Masturbation

“Argent.” The way Peter Hale says his name always sounds like the man is describing something particularly distasteful.

Chris Argent merely flashes one of those blank I-don't-know-your-name-but-I'm-being-polite smiles and nods once. Chris then returns to sorting through his stack of fanmail.

He knows very well who Peter Hale, darling of the network is, and he isn't impressed. (He does his best to avoid running into the full-of-himself designer, but given that they all have to stop in on Fridays and grab the fanmail they're required to handle, sometimes it's unavoidable.)

Chris has gone through two letters when he realizes that Peter is still standing there.

“Can I...help you?” Chris says, as if Peter is someone's assistant.

“I'm waiting for you to open that cream envelope,” Peter purrs, a weird predatory gleam in his eyes.

Chris arches a brow and slips the envelope in question from the pile. It's unsealed, so he just slides the paper out and scans the contents.

Apparently, the network is planning to do some sort of charity event, and they're partnering up the stars for their different shows for it. Chris knows before he reads the name who he's been chosen to be with. He's glad Peter can't hear his heartbeat as it quickens, considering two or more weeks in close proximity to the designer, because – for all that obnoxious arrogance – Peter Hale is very nice to look at.

Chris Argent has an excellent poker face. He glances up from the message, up at Peter and tilts his head ever so slightly.

“I'm guessing you must be – ” He glances at the letter again, reads the name from it. “ – Peter. Hale.” Chris gives him another bland smile. “Welcome to the network, kid. I'll see you on set.” Chris checks his watch, nods once, and then walks away, leaving Peter gaping after him in absolute astonishment.

He hasn't been so thoroughly overlooked in, well, ever.

His whole plan of impressing Argent with his name, of allowing the older man to bask in his presence, of maybe flirting a bit, maybe a little seduction has gone so far wrong that he can’t even process for a minute.

Peter's eyes narrow after the broad back of the jumped up construction worker, and he vows to get even with him for making Peter feel like less-than-nothing.

-

Peter's never actually watched Argent's Attic (refurbishing old, beat-up chairs is not really his thing), but he tunes it to get an idea of who this guy really is, this _nobody_ who's not impressed at being partnered with the home stylist to the stars.

He gets an eyeful of a shirtless Chris Argent, swinging an axe through a kitchen wall. And apparently, he has a thing for old lumberjacks, because Peter is suddenly very interested. Underneath those layers of flannel and beat-up jeans, Chris Argent is hiding one hell of a body.

(Peter's hand rests upon abdomen, where he's a bit softer than the older man is, and he sighs and grabs himself another piece of cheese and refills his wine. Peter Hale doesn't deny himself anything he wants.)

Peter misses most of what the episode is about – some gimmicky redesign your kitchen for under two-thousand dollars thing. (Peter snorts. He'd spent more than that on the rug for the dining room episode he'd just finished taping.) He's too busy ogling that body.

Peter leans back with his wine and pulls his blue silk robe open, curls his hand around his already half-hard cock, and watches Chris' body as he leisurely strokes himself. He shuts the TV off when the episode ends, then closes his eyes and brings himself to a finish imagining putting his hands – and tongue – all over that hard muscled body.

It's not until he's wiped his hand clean that Peter realizes he's going to have to spend weeks on end right next to that body, without having the option of touching it. Normally, Peter would assume that he'd get himself that opportunity, but Chris hadn't seem remotely interested, even after he knew who Peter was. Peter finishes his wine and sighs. Maybe it won't be that bad.

-

“Ain't nothin' wrong with that rug, kid.”

Peter grits his teeth. Chris insists on calling him kid, which is really grating on his nerves, and he thinks the crew is looking at him differently because of it.

Also, the guy is the worlds biggest cheapskate.

“Other than the fact that it's hideous and doesn't go at all with the color scheme I've laid out?” Peter sneers.

“These people got four children. They need durable, not – ” Chris looks Peter up and down, lip curling derisively. “ – pretty.”

The way Chris looks down his nose makes Peter certain that he's not just talking about the rug.

“The point of this is to improve their lives,” Peter snarls.

“And you think replacing a perfectly good rug with that... that overgrown _wall-hanging_ is gonna do that?”

Peter splutters as Chris stomps onto the fancy rug, sets the heel of his heavy boot down and _twists_ , easily shredding a hole in the center of Peter's delicately patterned designer rug.

“I suggest you find a way to integrate the old rug,” Chris says coldly and then walks right off the set.

Peter eyes the damaged thousand-dollar rug and sighs.

-

The rug is only the first battle. They go back and forth about everything from lamps to paint. Chris wants to re-use everything, Peter wants to get rid of all this trash and bring these people some actual quality items.

It all comes to a head about three days into the planning. Chris and Peter have been sniping back and forth all day.

The rest of the team has drifted off over the course of the last hour, and it's just Chris and Peter arguing about light switches (Chris thinks they should just recover them with contact paper, Peter insists these atrocities be completely replaced), when Chris says 'kid' one too many times.

“Listen, you old cheapskate. It ain't the Great Depression anymore and there's no reason to keep all this trash!” And Peter's so overcome with his annoyance that he actually shoves Chris a little.

Before he can even blink, his arm's twisted up behind his back, and his face is mashed against the wall, Chris growling in his ear.

“You are wasteful in both money and resources, obnoxious and arrogant, and I am so sick of the way you think you're better than anyone else. Someone should have beat you thoroughly as a child.”

“Fuck you,” is all Peter can think to say, because being pinned by Chris is doing interesting things to his libido and he's really glad he's facing away from the older man so he doesn't give himself away.

Chris snorts and then he's silent for a long minute. “No time like the present,” he says, and Peter's confused, up until one of Chris' hand slips around to unfasten the buttons of his slacks.

“What the fuck, Argent – ” Peter starts, but cuts off into a whimper of pain as Chris yanks his arm up higher on his back.

“I'm gonna give you the spanking you should have had as a kid,” Chris says and then yanks his pants down and without any warning, start smacking his hand down across the tender globes of Peter's ass over and over.

Peter had never realized how much that actually hurts, and he's squirming away from it as best he can, hissing out curses, but that just gives his dick some friction, and now he's in a whole 'nother predicament. Peter is quiet, a couple of tear tracks gracing his cheeks, by the time Chris runs out of steam, just enduring until it's over.

Chris reaches to tug Peter's pants back up, and as he slides his hand around the front, he encounters Peter's aching hard cock, and chuckles.

“Oh, so that's how it is,” he sneers low. “You like being put in your place, don't you?”

Without a further word, Chris bends Peter over the conference room table, tugs his pants back down, down to his ankles, and starts touching him again. But this time it's with a different intent, and soon Peter's squirming again, this time with the need to come, but Chris isn't going to make this easy. No, he's going to keep Peter on the edge until the little brat has agreed to every one of his demands. And then he's going to tie Peter to his bed and fuck him over and over until Peter knows his place thoroughly.

 


	46. Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sex Shop au

Chris glances up as Victoria nudges him with her elbow. He follows her gaze the the kid that's just walked in the door. He arches a brow at her and she lifts the coin. “Heads” he mouths silently at her and she nods, then flips it.

With a smirk, she shows off the tails side of the coin, then kisses at him, and sashays her way to the boy. Chris lets his eyes travel along her leather-clad frame, corset and skirt, and grins to himself. The kid won't know what hit him.

“Can I help you?” Victoria purrs at the young man, who twitches as if she's startled him, then spends a moment taking in her outfit, and the curves it fails to conceal.

“Glass or silicone?” he says, proffering two different dildos, without a trace of the shyness and nerves she expected. Her perfect eyebrows quirk and then she directs her attention to the items in her hand, and starts asking him questions to ascertain which might be best for his needs.

Again to her surprise, the kid answers them easily and without any sign of shame, and she finds herself wondering if he's equally as shameless behind closed doors.

He murmurs his thanks when she offers the one that will work for him, and Victoria nods, about to turn on her heel, but then he has questions about ropes, and by the time a half-hour has passed, he's got hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise in his arms.

Chris' lips twitch in amusement, as he starts ringing it up, and he reaches behind him for a brochure to some of the workshops and classes at the local scene club and hands it to the guy.

“Anything else?” Chris asks while Victoria goes in the back to get more stock to fill the shelves.

“Your number?” he asks with a mischievous grin, cerulean eyes looking slightly upward into Chris'.

“We come as a set,” Chris jerks his head towards where Victoria is coming out of the back with her arms full of boxes. “And you gotta talk to the boss.”

The guy nods. “Done.” He leaves his packages on the counter and goes over to talk to Victoria, murmuring low enough that Chris can't hear.

He throws Chris a wink as he picks up his things and saunters out of the store, glancing at Victoria as she lays down a business card in front of him.

“That was Peter Hale.”

Chris blinks. “The senator's son?”

She nods and turns to look where Peter had disappeared. “We have a date with him on Saturday.”

-

They never make that date.

Peter strides in the door of the shop as they're closing up, and he's in a v-neck that's ridiculously low, and pants that are impossibly tight. Victoria takes one look at him and declares that they're all staying in. Peter smirks as if he's won something, but Victoria just curls her hand around the back of his neck and directs him into the back room, where she bends him over the counter there and starts smacking his ass with her hand without saying another word.

Chris crosses his arms and watches from the doorway, hands Victoria the crop when she gestures for it, and chuckles softly at the surprised yelp coming from the younger man.

“Look at you walking in here like that,” Victoria scolds softly as she sets the crop aside to reach around and unfasten Peter's pants. “All on display like a banquet, just daring us to take what you've got laid out.” She yanks his pants down, to just brushing the curve of his ass, and then applies the crop again.

Peter yelps, but doesn't make any move to escape from her. “I think that's what you want, Peter, you want someone to take control away from you, don't you?”

He doesn't answer. Victoria swats him again.

“You have to ask for it, baby boy,” she says all syrupy sweet. “Or you don't get any more.”

Victoria glances towards Chris, who takes the cue and moves casually in Peter's line of sight, strips down to the tiny black thong that Victoria likes him to wear.

Peter's eyes drink him in.

“Yes,” he says hoarsely, then cries out as the crop comes down again.

“Yes, ma'am,” Victoria demands, and Peter parrots her response.

“Good boy,” she murmurs in approval, stepping back. “Now strip, get on your hands and knees, and crawl over to Chris.”

Peter hesitates, but he does as she commands, folding his too-tight clothing neatly on the counter and then crawling across the room, cock hard and heavy bobbing between his legs. He pauses uncertainly before Chris, who's eyes flick towards Victoria and he receives a nod.

“Kneel up,” he says roughly, and then he grabs a handful of Peter's hair when the boy doesn't move fast enough and yanks him to a high kneel, and then presses his cloth-covered cock against Peter's face. He just rubs against Peter's face a few moments, then frees his length from its confinement, letting it flop against Peter's face. The boy tries to turn towards it, but Chris' grip on his hair holds him in place. He slaps Peter's face with it a few times, then lifts it up to press against Peter's lips. Peter opens up easily, and Chris slides in cock in slowly, a few shallow thrusts, then he tests Peter's gag reflex, pushing into his throat. Peter takes it like a champ and Chris hides a pleased grin.

Instead, he lets go of Peter's hair, and reaches for a folding chair. Chris lowers himself down, keeping Peter's mouth on him the entire time, and then pulls Peter closer, pushing his cock into Peter's mouth, and just holding it there.

Victoria nods to Chris, and then pulls Peter's hips up so that he's on hands and knees now, and pulls the cheeks of his ass apart to reveal the furled muscle hiding in the cleft. She dribbles some lube on him and then teases it around his entrance, before sliding a finger inside.

Peter moans around Chris' length, and Chris has to resist fucking into that vibrating throat. He's learned to be patient, just waits and watches as Victoria opens Peter up skillfully, until she finally slides a double ended dildo inside him.

Victoria steps back and strips, and Chris' cock twitches at the sight of her as she climbs onto Peter, lowers herself onto that dildo until it's fully seated inside her, and her thighs are straddling Peter's hips.

“We're going to use you like a sex toy, Peter,” she purrs as she starts slowly fucking herself with the dildo, “and you're just going to sit there and take it.” She braces her hands on the small of Peter's back and leans forward.

Chris leans in as well, the motion shoving his cock further into Peter's throat as he reaches to cup his hands around Victoria's breasts, thumbs caressing her nipples. Victoria shifts and she must hit that sweet spot, because Peter's throat squeezes around Chris, and he gives her a nod. She drives the dildo into that spot as often as she can, and Chris starts fucking Peter's face in earnest. He comes before Victoria does, pumping his release into Peter's mouth, and then sitting back to relax, to enjoy the sight of Victoria thrusting with abandon, just humping wildly on Peter's backside, until it's her turn to come, gushing across Peter's ass.

Gingerly she climbs off Peter, as Chris pulls out of his mouth, and she pulls up a chair behind Peter, shakily taking a seat. Victoria reaches for the dildo and grips her end tightly, tugging it out of Peter until just the thick tip is breaching him.

“Fuck your self on it Peter,” she orders somewhat breathlessly. “Look up at Chris while you do it.”

Peter wordlessly complies, body trembling with need as he starts rocking back and forth, but it's not enough, he's not getting any friction, and he whines a bit. Chris glances up at Victoria and she nods. He scoots his chair closer, and slides his leg forward between Peter's legs, and that's how Peter eventually comes, with Victoria's dildo in his ass, and humping Chris' leg like a dog in heat.

Immediately Victoria is praising him, brushing a hand through his hair and telling him what a good boy he was, while Chris is lifting a bottle of water to his lips. He's wrapped up in a soft blanket, and the two of them stroke his back and his cheeks and give him gentle praises, and something inside Peter – something wild and destructive – settles, and he feels secure and safe for the first time he can remember.

 


	47. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: we’re both high school teachers and my students ship us but I won’t let them tell you au
> 
> Tags: Sex Toys, Somnophilia, Orgasm Delay

“Just ask him out, already!”

Peter glances away as the teacher across the hall nods in greeting and goes back to teaching. “Can it, Reyes.”

“Dude, Mr. Argent is hot, and I happen to know he's not particular about gender.”

“Lahey, _how_ do you know – No, I don't care. Get back to your senior projects.” Peter glances absently across the hall again briefly, and then sits back behind his desk and focuses on grading the absolutely awful essays on his desk.

-

Chris Argent looks up from his desk to meet the eyes of Peter Hale, the history teacher across the hall. He nods and Hale returns it, before returning his attention to his class. Chris wonders how long he's been staring. It's not the first time it's happened either.

Chris narrows his eyes and watches hale a moment longer, but he doesn't look back over.

The bell rings just then and Chris is suddenly swamped with freshmen, not one of whom has managed to complete the homework properly.

“ _En Francais_ ,” he reminds them as they say their good mornings, which earns him several eye rolls and an awkward silence.

“Alright, who wants to show us the correct pronunciations that you were supposed to practice last night?”

Chris looks across the room at all the eyes uncomfortably avoiding his gaze.

_Why do I do this again?_

-

“You two would be so _adorable_ together.”

Peter just sets Lydia's paper down in front of her, and the glaring red minus after the A is enough to distract her from his non-existent love life, and safely into the realm of arguing about her grade.

“You know what would be neat?” McCall offers. “If we did some sort of French History unit with his class.”

Peter smacks Scott in the face with his paper.

“Ooh, I got an A.”

Lydia's hair fans out as she snaps her head around. “ _WHAT_?!”

Peter smirks all the way back to his desk.

-

“I've got a proposal for you.”

Chris looks up as Peter Hale leans forward across his desk, eyes skating across the corded muscle of his biceps and down into the low cut v-neck, and all Chris can think is, _This is how porn starts_. His face betrays none of this, of course, Chris merely arches a brow. “Oh?”

Peter turns slightly and half-sits, half-leans on the edge of Chris' desk, giving Chris a fabulous view of the curve of that perfect ass.

“We're about to start a unit on French Imperialism,” Peter says. Chris just stares blankly at him, desperately trying not to think about bending Peter over the desk and absolutely _wrecking_ that ass.

“I thought a joint collaboration,” Peter says after a beat too long of silence, “might be interesting.”

Chris manages to wrest his imagination from other ways they could 'collaborate' and nods once.

“Sure,” he says easily, “we can do that.”

“Great,” Peter says, hoping off Chris' desk. “Saturday morning, after your game? I'll swing by your place.” (Chris is also the baseball coach.)

Chris nods, and watches Peter leave, and all he can think is, _How does he fit himself into those jeans?_

-

Peter shows up in sweatpants and a v-neck that looks like it's painted on.

Chris is tired and in a foul mood from a shitty game, and so he blurts out the first thing that comes into his mind.

“Jesus, Hale, do you always dressed like you're about to be in a porn?” Peter slowly arches an eyebrow, and steps past Chris as he mumbles an apology and shuts the door. “Fuck, sorry man, that was uncalled for. Rough day.” He flops down on the center of the couch and starts pulling out his school planner. “Beer's in the fridge if you want one.”

Peter chooses, instead, to come up behind the couch and settles his hand on Chris' shoulders, automatically moving into a massage that has the French teacher melting under his fingertips.

Chris had started to protest but Peter found a knot and soothed it out and he really can't think past how nice it feels.

“Just relax, Christopher,” Peter murmurs as he ceases the massage and walks around the front of the couch. “I'll take care of you.”

Peter falls to his knees and tugs down the front of Chris' workout shorts, wraps his hand around the cock that's already half-hard from the massage, and then lowers his head.

Chris groans loudly as he feels the wet heat of Peter's mouth around him, and can't help but lift a hand to tangle in the younger man's hair.

“Your fucking mouth,” he murmurs, making Peter chuckle low in his throat around Chris' dick.

He pulls back off long enough to say, “You haven't seen anything yet,” and then proceeds to show Christ just how very good he is at cock-sucking. Peter brings Chris to the edge three times before Chris has had enough of the teasing and tightens his grip on Peter's hair, wraps his other hand around the history teacher's throat and fucks harshly into the younger man's mouth, slams his cock against the back of Peter's throat until he's coming, splashing hotly onto Peter's tongue.

Chris takes a great, heaving breath and slumps back onto the couch. Peter kneels back, hand lowering to slide along his own hardness tenting the sweats, but Chris leans forward and stops him.

“Wait, I've got a better idea.”

Peter tilts his head curiously, but willingly follows Chris to the bedroom to see just what the French teacher has in mind.

Chris gets out an inflatable dildo and a thing of lube, and points to the bed. “Hand and knees, Hale.”

Peter shrugs and does so, shivering softly as Chris tugs down the sweats and caresses his ass before swirling one slick finger around Peter's furled pucker.

Chris takes his time opening Peter up, and then slides the toy inside him, pressing the button until it's filling Peter completely. Then he has Peter kneel up while Chris fingers his own hole open. Peter's cock is flushed and angry red and leaking copiously by the time Chris feels open enough to take it.

He lays down on his back and Peter shuffles forward, pushing slowly into him until his balls are resting against the globes of Chris' ass.

“Yeah, just like that,” Chris breathes, then clicks the second button, and the dildo inside Peter starts vibrating. His cock twitches inside Chris, and Peter automatically starts fucking forward. Chris halts him and smirks faintly.

“Oh no you don't, Hale, not yet.” Chris lifts Peter's hands and slathers them in lube. “You gotta get me off again like this before you can come.”

Peter takes a shaky breath, and then lowers his hands to Chris' dick, only just now recovering from his first orgasm, and starts sliding them along it. Peter is trembling and sweating with the effort to not do anything by the time Chris is fully erect again. Chris has his arms tucked behind his head as he watches Peter jack him off, and he keeps making him stop and slow down.

It's not until Peter starts pleading to make Chris come that he finally lets himself fall over that edge, and it sends Peter into a mad frenzy of desperate jack-rabbiting thrusts as Chris dials up the vibration and increases the thickness of the toy inside Peter until he comes with a nearly wailing cry, and collapses down on top of Chris.

Chris gingerly extracts himself from Peter, going around behind the other man, and slowly deflating the dildo before tugging it out. Peter falls into a light doze as Chris cleans the toy, and then settles behind Peter. He slide four fingers past that red, puffy rim, and keeps them there, keeps Peter spread open until he feels ready to go again. Peter is still in a sleepy haze as Chris slides inside him, wraps his arms around the younger man, and starts fucking into him leisurely. He doesn't come this time, just gets himself fully inside Peter, until they can't physically get any closer together, and then he, too, drifts off to sleep.

 


	48. Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beauty and the Beast AU
> 
> Tags: Non-Con, Underage, Inflation, Forced Feminization, Lingerie, Forced Cross-Dressing, Desperation, Forced Orgasm, Butt Plugs, No Resemblance To Prompt
> 
> Note: Continuation of [Mountain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582039/chapters/6959069)

Peter opens one bleary eye as a scraping noise wakes him up. He sees the large, heavily bearded older man that's holding him captive dragging a cabinet into the room. He watches silently as a small television is placed up on it, and then the remote is settled right next to his face.

Peter feels the bed dip as his kidnapper crawls in beside him. Peter's left leg is lifted slightly, knee bent to expose his plugged hole behind.

That plug is tugged free roughly, and in the same instant, the mountain man's cock is thrust viciously inside, pushing the come already filling Peter deeper into him. Chris stretches one big hand across Peter's bloated stomach and starts kneading it as he rolls his hips, fucking Peter real slow.

Naturally this makes the cramps flare up again, and Peter can't help the squirming and clenching he does around Chris' dick, reacting to the dull pains.

“Love how how dance on my cock,” the rough voice growls in his ear, Chris free hand wrapping around Peter's neck to squeeze his windpipe tightly. Peter panics, as he always does, and starts gasping behind the gag, body tensing as the edges of his vision go black. It's only then that the older man releases his grip, waits for Peter to take a couple of heaving breaths, and then repeats the procedure all over again.

After some indefinable time period has passed, Chris lets go of Peter's neck and lifts the remote.

“I got a surprise for you, baby.” he clicks it and Talia's face fill the screen, voice filling the room as Chris turns the volume way up.

“...whatever beast has taken my little brother, I offer you a deal. Let him go, and I will come to you of my own will.”

He starts fucking Peter in earnest now, slamming into him over and over as he listens to his sister's voice on repeat. Finally, there's one last harsh slam, and Chris is coming inside him, Peter's stomach bulging out a little more. Chris' hand keeps massaging it.

“She thinks she's a real beauty,” Chris murmurs into Peter's ear once he's done spilling his seed. “But I think you're way prettier.” Then his dick twitches inside the boy, and Peter just knows whatever Chris has thought of is not going to bed good.

He's right.

“I wonder just how pretty you can be,” Chris says as he slides out and pushes the plug back into Peter. “You're gonna be my pretty girl, Peter, my beauty.”

Chris climbs off the bed and moves between Peter and the still-repeating tv. He slides his limp dick through the ring gag, cleaning himself off on Peter's tongue, and then withdraws to dig through the room's only dresser. He pulls a pair of blue silk panties free, along with a matching sundress. Ignoring Peter's grunted protests, he slides the panties up Peter's legs, tucking the boy's cock and balls snugly inside, and then patting him on the rump.

Peter groans and shivers as the motion jiggles the plug inside him and sets off the cramps again. Chris ignores the whimpers and ties the sundress on. Last he pulls a couple of hair clips free and pins them in Peter's hair. He climbs in behind the boy once more and rests his hand over the bloated stomach.

“Now you look like my pretty pregnant girl,” he murmurs, one hand sliding up Peter's thigh under the dress, and then curving down into the silk underwear. “Want me to play with your little clit, baby?” he says low into Peter's ear as his hand curls around the boy's dick and starts jacking it slowly. Peter does his best not to react, but he's sixteen and Chris is an expert at this and before too long, he's fully hard and thrusting through the rough grip, regardless of the aches in his gut and his sister's voice rolling through the room.

He whimpers when Chris lets god and the one fat tear slips down his cheek as he feels the rush of shame. Chris flips Peter on his back and spreads the boy's thighs, settling in between them. He tugs the top of Peter's dress down and palms Peter's chest.

“We gotta take good care of those titties,” he chuckles to Peter, both hands turning to roll Peter's nipples between thumb and forefinger, every now and then pinching to tug them away from Peter's body. Chris sometimes lowers his face to them, rubbing his beard along the over-sensitive nubs, all the while, grinding his erection down into Peter's.

Suddenly he starts slamming his hand down onto Peter's chest, open-handed slaps that _hurt_ and make Peter howl behind his gag. He continues doing it until everything is red and swollen and puffy and then he kneels back and warps one large hand around himself. Chris shifts until he's straddling Peter's abdomen now, lowers his weight onto the boys cramping stomach and starts sliding his hand along himself, stripping quickly and efficiently until he's painting strips of white along Peter's inflamed chest.

Chris rubs it in brusquely across the abused flesh, and then pulls the top of Peter's dress back up. “That's my girl,” he praises Peter, who just closes his eyes and hopes for it to be over, but Chris isn't close to done yet. He lifts the hem of Peter's dress and slides his head beneath it, starts mouthing Peter's cock through the silky blue panties, sliding the wet heat back and forth across the hard length, until Peter's actively fucking upward, close to the edge.

Without warning, Chris pulls back and flips Peter over onto his stomach. Peter groans as his achingly hard cock is trapped beneath him. Chris folds the back of the dress up until it's bunched around Peter's waist, then tugs the blue silk down until it's cupping the pert globes of the boy's ass.

Chris straddles Peter's thighs and then slaps a hand down on the revealed pale skin. “Rub yourself off against the bed, little girl,” he orders as he lowers another smack. “This'll keep up til you come.” He brings his hand down again, this time, his middle finger catching the edge of the plug, and Peter howls into the gag, and then starts desperately rutting against the bedcovers.

It takes him a long time to finish that way, and by the time he's filling his panties with his fluids, his ass is red and sore, and Chris is fully hard again. He pulls the plug free, and warns Peter that he better not lose a drop of the come inside him, the punishment would be worse than anything he's ever faced before. Chris slides his cock along the valley between Peter's ass cheeks, both hands reaching around to curl bruisingly into Peter's chest. Chris takes his time fucking Peter's crack, grinding down and making sure to catch the rim often enough that Peter's trembling with the effort to hold everything in.

Just before he comes, Chris kneels back and aims his seed at Peter's ass, covering the tortured flesh with his come, and then pulling the panties back up into place.

Peter's making desperate whining noises behind his gag, but Chris just pats him on the ass. “You can hold it, baby girl.”

Chris drags the television back out to the living room, and sets himself back up on the couch with a sigh of relaxation. He shuts Talia off and turns on a baseball game, ignoring the squirming, pleading boy on his bed.

 


	49. Oceans Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: you’re in the air force and i’m in the marines and deeply in love you, but i’m not sure if it’s possible for us to be anything because i just got my orders and i’ll be an ocean away from you au.
> 
> Tags: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Pining, Ambiguous/Open Ending

“Oh, _just_ what we need.”

Chris glances over to John, then follows his fellow Marine's gaze to where a bunch of Air Force pilots have just walked in the door of the USO club.

“...bunch a pretty faced flyboys...”

He ignores John's mumbling into his drink, because one of the pilots captures his _full_ attention. A complex series of emotions swirls through Christopher Argent, best summed up as, _There's someone I'd like to hatefuck for the rest of my life_. The guy doesn't even notice him, just lead – of course he's the leader of them – his crew through the center of the room and up to the bar. Right next to him and John. Naturally, John gets one of his smirks on and starts insulting them. John has never known when to keep his mouth shut, especially once he's got a few drinks in him.

Fortunately, a couple of the girls they know from the local area step right into it, Natalie with her smile, and Melissa with those eyes, and they thoroughly distract John. He's got no defense against pretty girls, and those two know it. In five minutes, he's over at their table, buying everyone drinks.

“Poor bastard,” Chris mutters under his breath, only to hear a chuckle at his side.

“In over his head is he?” someone purrs next to his ear.

“They're going to eat him alive...” Chris turns and finds himself face to face with that gorgeous pilot, who grins wide.

“Are they now...” he says as his gaze flicks momentarily down to Chris' lips as he nervously licks them. “Let's have a drink in memoriam.” He tilts his head in a questioning way and Chris nods once after taking a minute to process.

“Peter Hale,” the pilot offers, lifting his drink to Chris, and the Marine reciprocates. They talk a bit about the war, Peter's headed overseas, flying for the RAF. Chris is heading to the Pacific to the USS Arizona.

Chris has time for one sip before Peter leans close and propositions him. It's not the kind of offer Chris usually takes up, but he's drunk and heading out in a week, and John's obviously not going to be back for a while. He tosses the rest of his drink back and leads the way out. But if peter thinks he's getting an easy fuck, he's in for a surprise.

Because Chris pins his arms above his head the second they're in the hotel room, and keeps him that way, pinned to one surface or another while he slowly builds him up to the edge over and over. Peter is cursing his name and making threats by the time Chris finally sinks into him, and he still manages to take it slow, keeping the pilot on that brink for as long as he can. Finally, even Chris can't take it any more, and with the help of his free hand and a few rough thrusts, they're coming almost simultaneously, and he falls onto the bed next to Peter, worn out and exhausted, and slips into slumber.

When Chris wakes up, he's all alone, and he can hear John and both girls in the next room over. The other side of the bed is cold.

Peter Hale is long gone.

-

It's been three days. Three days and he can't stop thinking about Peter. It's just not (just) the fantastic sex, they way he moved, the way his mouth made demands while his body pleaded, Chris thought about the sound of his voice, and the way he felt waking up without him.

He's leaving in three days and he has to see Peter one more time.

Chris doesn't have the first clue where to start.

He's been laying on his bed with his hand tucked under his head, studying the ceiling for answers for about an hour when there's a knock at the door. Chris slowly blinks at it. The knock sounds again. He finally levers himself from the bed and opens the door, only to take a fist to the jaw.

“You son of a bitch,” Peter's voice growls as Chris staggers back. He hears the door shut behind Peter. “You got into my head somehow. I can't stop thinking about you.”

Chris blinks watering eyes and shakes his head. Peter aims another punch, but Chris blocks it, manages to step aside.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Peter roars. “I love 'em and leave, I don't look back. You _drugged_ me or something.” Another fist flies wildly his way, and Chris realizes that Peter is hammered. He catches the punch, twists Peter's arm and pins him to the wall.

“I'm leaving tomorrow,” Peter mumbles. “I just wanted to have a good time before I left. I didn't want... _this_.”

If Chris was a good man, he'd tuck Peter into his bed and let him sleep it off, or get him a giant cup of coffee. But he's not, he just spins the shorter man and lowers his lips, kissing Peter softly and sweetly. Peter blinks slowly as Chris pulls away, then swings again, but Chris is prepared. He ducks the blow and then scoops Peter onto his shoulder, carries him into the other room, and tosses him on the bed. This time it's hard and fast, and when it's done, Chris doesn't let go, clings to Peter until he squirms and complains. Only then does Chris start talking, tell Peter that he can't stop thinking about him either, tells him they they can find a way to make it work, they can write letters, they meet up on their leaves. “Besides, we're not really going to join the war, the President has said that he wants us to stay out of it. It'll only be for a little while.”

Peter is silent for a few moments. “And then after?”

“We'll worry about after when it comes,” Chris declares and then tugs Peter closer. “Everything's going to be alright.”

Peter takes a deep breath, and then nods. “Okay, Christopher, I'll buy what you're selling. What base are you going to be at so I know where to send my letters.”

Chris smiles softly. “I'm headed to Hawaii. Little place called Pearl Harbour.”

 


	50. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'i’m dating someone but the person i was crushing on in high school has suddenly reappeared' au
> 
> Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Cock Rings, Double Penetration, Butt Plugs
> 
> Note: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski

Peter and John aren't dating. Well not _really_. Sure, they have a standing date – not date, hanging out – they hang out every Saturday at the sports bar. And yeah, Peter spends the night and makes pancakes in the morning (after John wakes him up with his mouth), but it's not like _dating_ -dating. He's never been John's plus-one or anything.

It's not like it _means_ anything, it's not like he's _cheating_ when his heart skips a beat on seeing Christopher fucking Argent in the grocery store, just standing there like he hadn't vanished all those years ago, like he hadn't shredded Peter's sixteen year old heart. Like he wasn't still the sexiest thing Peter's ever seen, all trace of his boyish plumpness gone, lean whipcord muscle replacing it. Those crystalline blue eyes were the same though, glancing around curiously like he's somehow sensed Peter's heavy gaze.

Peter does what any person in that situation would do. He leaves his half-full cart where it is, and he turns on his heel and walks right out. He gets into his Camaro, drives home, and starts drinking heavily. Until he can no longer see those piercing blue eyes, or the way the corded muscle of his bicep moved when he reached for a box of cereal.

-

He takes a couple of days to wallow, then gets his shit together for Saturday, heads to the bar and walks in, looking around for John. Peter's already walking towards the man he's dating-not-dating when he sees who's sitting across from him at the booth.

Chris. _Of course_.

“Peter!” John beckons him over, slides to make room. “I'd like you to meet Chris Argent. He's on loan from the Texas Rangers, hunting down someone.”

Peter has a choice now, Chris' blank face isn't giving anything away, he could bluff it, pretend he doesn't remember or he could go the long lost friend way. He decides to choose a middle route.

“Chris.” He nods. “How ya doing?”

Chris apparently has no compunctions about their past. “Peter. Been a while.”

John's brows arch and he looks down at Peter as he slings his arm across the younger man's shoulders. “You two know each other?”

Peter simply nods once, while Chris leans back and fiddles with his beer before lifting those fucking eyes to Peter.

“Told you I was from around here.” He points the neck of the bottle at Peter. “He was a couple years behind me in school.”

“Oh?” John leans back and arches a brow. “You got any good stories?”

Peter turns narrowed eyes up to John. “Oh no you don't.”

He grins. “Hey, you got to hear shit about me from my old Marine buddies last summer.”

Peter snorts. “That's hardly the same thing, old man.”

“Old?” John mock glares. “I'm not the one who gets tired out easy, _boy._ ”

Peter arches a brow, but desists as Chris clears his throat uncomfortably. “So, I should probably head back to the motel.”

“Not a chance,” John says firmly. “You're coming to dinner. I'll grill some steaks and you can tell me all about teenaged Peter.”

Chris politely acquiesces, and they all form a caravan to the Sheriff's house. John grabs a couple beers and passes them around, turns on the news for background noise, then glances at Peer, then Chris – both of whom are overly casually not looking at each other.

“You two were _together_ weren't you?”

Chris's lips thin and it's clear he's considering how best to answer that question. Peter's eyes are narrowed and he's watching John, obviously gauging how mush to say.

“Was he as much as an exhibitionist back then?” John says, leaning back, body language making it clear that he's not threatened by the revelation.

Peter's “ _Excuse_ me,” is drowned out by Chris' sudden laugh and the following affirmative. “Absolutely.”

John grins real slow, tilts his head and catches Chris' eye. “I bet he could take the two of us at once.”

Peter's just staring now, a flush slowly creeping up his neck. Chris is so still and silent he might as well have been a statue, and for a long moment, John thinks maybe he's miscalculated. Then Chris smirks and turns to look at Peter. “Only one way to find out.”

Peter looks between the two men staring him down. “Don't I get a vote?” His voice betrays him, hoarse and thick, and John lifts himself from his chair and slides his hand between Peter's legs, rubs roughly along his zipper.

“I think you already voted, baby boy.”

Peter acts like he's reluctant, but it doesn't take long to get him on his knees, legs spread wide as John opens him up, lips wrapped around Chris' cock. He works his way up to four fingers as Chris slowly fucks into Peter's throat, blue eyes wide as he alternates between watching Peter and watching John. He's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that two hours ago he barely knew either of these men, now he's about to get real up close and personal with them.

Peter groans around his dick, and Chris' attention is brought back to the present, because John is sliding a ring around Peter's angry red cock. He watches John gather the precome from Peter on his fingers, and pull Peter off his cock to wipe the fluids on his tongue. Chris steps back and lazily slide his own hand along himself as John settles down onto the couch and beckons Peter over.

Peter shakily pushes up from the floor and climbs onto the couch, straddles John's lap with his back toward the older man and lowers himself onto the thick cock standing at attention below him. They both make soft noises of pleasure as John sinks home, and take a moment to catch their breaths, before the Sheriff slaps peter' thigh and orders him to start moving already.

Chris steps forward and feeds his cock back into Peter's mouth as he impales himself over and over on John, and he knows the moment that the older man adds a finger next to his dick, because Peter nearly wails around Chris' cock. He keeps going when he thinks Peter's ready, adds another and another before he nods to Chris and removes them, pulling Peter back and holding his legs further apart.

Chris kneels on the edge of the couch and slowly pushes in next to John, then just as slowly back out. He can't help the moan he makes at the vice-like tightness, or how the hot band of John's dick feels sliding across his. Peter's whimpering in his ear just makes his even more turned on and Chris has to keep a tight rein on himself, because all he wants to do is fuck _hard_ into that clenching passage. And then John's hands lift to Peter's chest and start playing with the man's nipples, and Chris nearly comes right then, because Peter clenches tightly around them with each tug and twist.

“ _Jesus_ , John, I'm not going to last very long,” he breathes, and the Sheriff turns a crooked grin upwards to Chris.

“You gonna come for us, Chris, gonna fill Peter up, gonna cover my cock with it?” Then he slides one large hand from Peter to Chris, gripping the other man's hip and making him stop moving, just stay still with both of them fully buried inside Peter. Chris takes a deep breath and looks down at John.

“I think we should relax and make Peter do all the work,” John murmurs, and then brings his hand up to play with Peter's ringed cock, the other resuming its assault on the sandwiched man's nipples. Peter tightens and squirms, impaled on both of them, and teased and tortured, and then John suddenly slides the cock ring free. His big hand slides along the leaking cock, and it's maybe four heartbeats before Peter's howling in their ears, coming in such hard spasms that Chris can't help but follow Peter over that edge, Peter's come splashing between them as Chris pulses inside him.

Peter falls limply back against John as Chris slumps to the floor, breathing heavily as he watches John use Peter's lax body, watching John's thick cock plunge into that come filled hole until he yanks Peter down hard to him and comes inside the younger man. Chris lays back, exhausted but sated, onto the living room rug, and he starts in surprise when he feels Peter's tongue slide across his thigh, cleaning him of the mess that Peter had made. He crawls over Chris, cleaning up every drop, as John kneels beside Peter and slides a large plug into him.

John smiles down at the two men on the floor. “How long are you planning to be in town for again?”

 


	51. Laundry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “we live in the same apartment complex and I accidentally leave my laundry in the washer for a minute too long and you decide to take out all my wet clothes to put in yours just as I walk in” au
> 
> Tags: Dubious Consent, Spanking, Whipping, Rimming, Edgeplay, Orgasm Denial, Nipple Torture
> 
> Note: Apartment Verse

Peter checks his watch again. He's got just enough time to wash and dry this load, take a shower and pick up a latte on the way to work. But both washers are filled with clothes, done but not switched over to the dryers, and whoever left their shit in there hasn't shown up to get it. And Peter's been waiting for ten fucking minutes. He's checked his email – twice – and used up all his lives in Candy Crush.

Finally, he sighs and says, “Fuck it.” He doesn't have time to wait around.

Peter starts emptying the washer. The jerk didn't eave leave the baskets behind, so Peter is forced to pile the clothes creatively on top of the tiny folding table, and they're perilously close to overflowing.

Peter's just placing the last few wet shirts on the table when the door opens and he looks up.

Right into familiar crystalline blue eyes.

Chris glances at the clothes in Peter's hand, and one eyebrow lofts. He turns around, shuts and locks the door, and then leans against it with his arms crossed. Peter just lifts his chin, drops the clothes on top of the pile and goes to start his laundry.

Chris watches with that brow still arched as Peter leans forward, reaching across the washer to fiddle with the settings, gaze sweeping down to where the jeans pull tight against Peter's ass. He waits until Peter's started his washing before he moves, swiftly crossing the room, and pinning Peter down across the machine, holding his wrists at the small of his back, circled with Chris' large left hand.

“So impatient, Peter,” he growls low into he other man's ear, right before his free the flannel covered ass. “Seems I'm going to have to teach you how to be patient.”

Peter starts to protest, but Chris' hand comes down again. And again. A rain of blows, unrelenting and harsh, until Peter is limp and whimpering against the vibrating machine. Still holding Peter in place, Chris manipulates his body so that his half-hard cock is pressed up against the side of the washer. Then he tugs Peter's pajama pants down until just under the curve of his ass. It's a deep pink, but Chris wants to make sure Peter feels this one for a while. So he unbuckles his belt one-handed, and slides it free.

Without warning, Chris brings the belt down across Peter's rear, causing the younger man to grind into the vibration of the washing machine.

“Don't you even _think_ about coming,” Chris growls, as he brings the belt down for ten perfect, gorgeous stripes of deep red. Then Chris uses the belt to secure the squirming, sniffling man's hand in place, before he drops to his knees and grabs cruel handfuls of Peter's ass, nails digging into the welts as he pulls those soft globes widely apart and swipes his tongue along the revealed cleft.

Peter moans loud and Chris pulls away long enough to remind him to be quiet or someone will hear, and then he dives back in, just laving his tongue across the puckered hole over and over until Peter's squirming and pressing back to try and get the tongue inside him. But this is an excersize in patience, and Chris doesn't let up until Peter is reduced to an incoherent, whining mess.

Only then does he slide his tongue inside Peter, just teasing with the tip at first, and then slowly a little more, until he's tongue fucking the younger man, twisting it inside him. Peter rocks back onto Chris' tongue, desperately trying to get more, but Chris shoves him tightly back against the washer, and continues until Peter's hole is sloppy wet. Then Chris gets two fingers all spit-slick and presses them slowly into Peter, making sure the younger man can feel every inch of that stretch. Slowly he fucks Peter on his fingers, making certain to avoid his prostate completely. Spreading his fingers apart, Chris stretches Peter even more, until he judges that the other man is ready. He frees his own painfully hard cock from his jeans, licks his palm and gets himself wet.

Chris slides the fat head of his cock into Peter's tight hole, letting it rest there a moment, then pulling back out again. He digs his fingers once again into the marked-up curves of Peter's backside as he makes tiny little thrusts, just pushing that blunt tip through the tight ring of muscle over and over. Peter isn't even trying to rock back anymore, not that he could with Chris' hip pinning him in place, he's just lying there and taking it.

Chris takes his time, he's got nothing better to do today, so it's a while before he finally slides all the way home, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against the abused flesh of Peter's ass. It's only then that he fucks Peter hard, chases his own pleasure, raking his nails across Peter's welts until he comes, laying across the other mans' back a long moment, harsh heaving breaths before growling low into Peter's ear. “You hold onto every drop of my come, Peter.”

He feels Peter clench around him, and ever so slowly pulls away, nodding as he sees the desperate way that Peter brings his legs together. Chris wipes his dick off on Peter's pajama pants and pulls them back into place, patting the younger man's ass gently.

But if Peter thinks he's done, he's wrong, because Chris flips him over, so that he's bent backwards over the washing machine, belt-wrapped arms beneath him. Chris ignores the pleading as he tugs Peter's pants down in the front now, freeing Peter's angry-red cock, letting it bob in the air as he rucks Peter's shirt up to his elbow.

“Love those tits,” he growls, lowering his head to flick his tongue out over a nipple, hand curling around Peter's twitching dick and stroking slowly. Chris sucks on each nipple until it's puffy with his attentions, all the while stroking Peter with the renewed admonition against orgasm, before he pulls away, and then lifts his hand high.

Peter's eyes widen, but he doesn't have time to say anything, because the hand comes down right over his chest, and he has to clench his jaw to keep from crying out. Chris strikes each nipple a few times, and then lowers his mouth to them once more, tugging with his teeth as he returns his hand to Peter's cock. He keeps Peter on the edge, alternating stroking him and abusing his nipples, until the timer on the washer goes off.

“Oh,” he says, pulling back. “Your laundry's done.”

Chris pulls Peter's clothing back into place, tugging him to his feet and turning the dazed man around so that he can release the belt. He smacks Peter's ass once more time before he turns and leaves, leaving Peter alone with his laundry.

 


	52. Feral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Person A goes feral and Person B has to try to calm them down.

“Took you long enough to - ” Peter pushes from between the trees, nostrils flaring, eyes glowing golden as he catches Chris’ scent. “Christopher?”

The young hunter halts in his steps, blue eyes dull, unfocused as he lifts his weapon and fires a round right at Peter.

The wolf hits the dirt, gasping as the acrid scent of weaponized wolfsbane wafts over him.

“Christopher, what the hell is - ” Peter rolls to the side and then backflips to his feet as Chris dully takes aim again.

“It’s a spell…” Christopher’s father steps out from the shadows a ways away.  Peter automatically scents the air and can’t smell a thing from the elder Argent. “A spell that takes him down to his basic instincts. It’s the only way to clean himself of the stain of consorting with animals.”

Peter just barely ducks again as Chris finishes his round and quickly reloads. He turns to dive back into the woods, but there’s an earsplitting noise - must be the sonic weapons his father had mentioned hearing about - and he shies back.

Peter feels the sting of a dart hitting his neck as Chris finally connects, two piercing, burning flames in his side. He wobbles on his feet, but continues attempting escape.  

Peter is only one teenaged wolf against two well trained hunters. he ends up on his knees with Gerard holding him down while Chris pulls a machete.

“Christopher,” Peter pleads, “Christopher, this isn’t you.  You’re not like him.  Snap out of it.”

There’s no response, no recognition in the blue eyes, and as Chris lifts the blade, Peter lets out one last howl, one last act of defiance, eyes blazing bright gold, then he closes them and lowers his head.

Chris lifts his arm, Peter can hear the creak of his leather jacket, but instead of the blow he’s expecting, Peter’s thrown backward as Gerard falls.  He hears a whispered, “Peter,” then the werewolf’s eyes fly open to see Chris grimacing and rubbing his fist.

“Christopher?” Peter blinks up at the hunter pulls him to his feet. and kisses him soundly, then shoves him.

“Run. Before he wakes up.”

Peter is two steps into the foliage before he realizes Chris isn’t behind him. He turns back. “Chris - ”

Chris is standing over his father’s prone form, lifts his eyes to his wolf. “I love you.” He turns away. “Good bye, Peter.”

Peter turns away with his hand pressed over his bullet wounds and begins to run.


	53. Beyond the Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priest!Chris and Ghost!Peter

“ _Father Christopher_ …”

Chris stops in his tracks. 

“Peter,” he says evenly. “I asked you to leave me alone.”

The spirit drifts around to stand in front of Chris, crosses his arms and leans against the wall.  “I’m not very good at following orders.” 

Peter pushes off from the wall and steps forward, comes close enough that Chris can feel the chill of his skin. “Remember when you used to put me on my knees, Christopher…?”

Chris looks past the ghost to the altar behind him. “This is holy ground, Peter.  You should not be here.”

Peter swirls around him. Chris can feels the chilled breath across his neck. “You don’t really want me to leave, _Father_.”

Chris sets his jaw and pushes through the apparition, heads to his private chambers, and kneels before his small altar, begins mumbling his prayers.

“That’s not going to save you, Christopher.”

Christopher can feel ghostly hands touching him, caressing beneath his robes. He shifts but they follow.

“ _Begone, Peter_!”

Peter shimmers into view, more corporeal than he has ever appeared before. “Make me,” he smirks, lifting his chin and winking.

Father Christopher has always struggled with his temper, and he hasn’t slept well since Peter began haunting him. He  _snaps_ , and before he knows it, he’s got a hand around Peter’s throat and he’s somehow pinning the spirit against the wall by his neck.

“Yesss,” hisses Peter, “That’s it…”

“Shut up,” Chris growls, before crashing his lips down onto Peter.  They burn with cold fire, and somehow it infuriates him even further. He kisses Peter hard enough to draw blood - were he human - and then turns him to slam him up against the wall face first.

Somehow he’s tearing off Peters’ clothes, and he has no idea how this is happening, but he’s too far gone to care. Peter’s mocking voice encourages him, and he pushes into Peter harshly enough to hurt.  But Peter is far beyond being able to be hurt.

Chris wraps one hand around Peter’s throat as he fucks the ghost, gasping at the searing cold, and yet somehow he feels the warmth inside Peter as well.  Peter makes a gasping noise as Chris continues to dig his fingers into the spirit’s throat, and it spurs Chris on as he thrusts roughly over and over, somehow using Peter’s form for his pleasure.

Chris bites down into Peter’s shoulder as he comes, strangling his cry as he shudders through the aftershocks, and then falls to the floor as Peter disappears. He lays on his back and stares at the ceiling, catching his breath as his brain fills with self-recriminations.

“Until next time, Father Christopher,” comes a mocking voice from the ether.


	54. Mermaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mermaid AU

Chris is stretched out on his bunk, half-dozing when the bell goes off to signal that something’s tugging on one of the nets he’s got spread on either side of his boat. 

He grumbles as he throws on a pair of pants and shuffles barefoot to the deck, yawning as he starts turning the crank to lift the nets free of the water.  Whatever he’s got is heavy, and he swears under his breath as he struggles with the crank, and then swears again as he sees what’s inside.

There’s a dead man caught among the fish.

Chris can see most of a broad chest, and one strong-looking bicep. He lets the net fall to the deck, wading through scattered fish, intending to grab the guy and send him back to his watery grave.  But just as soon as Chris gets his hand curled round that upper arm, the corpse  _moves_ , shakes and takes a deep hacking breath.  

Chris shies back, startled, and slips on a fish, falls to his ass as the guy opens two eyes the same color as the sea and  _stares_ at Chris. Who stares right back, because what the fuck.

The guy shakes again, and the piled fish slide away from him, and now Chris can see that his bottom half is all fish, eyes glued to the ripple of scales as his catch clears himself of the surrounding detritus.

“A mother fucking mermaid,” Chris mutters under his breath.

Those incredible eyes fixate on him. “I assure you,” the creature says, in perfect English, “I am neither a maid, nor a mother fucker.”

Chris swears again as the thing talks to him, and reaches for the harpoon behind him. “What the hell are you doing in my net? And how can you speak my language.”

“My name is Peter,” it says sarcastically, “Very nice to meet you, thanks for the hospitality.” He shifts position, scoots himself against a barrel to prop himself up. “Telepathy. My kind speaks mind to mind. Also, would you mind not stabbing me? I like my body the way it is, thank you.”

Chris can’t help looking along it - Peter - ‘s body at that, and if it weren’t for the tail, Chris would have to admit that it’s one damn fine specimen.

“Thank you, Cristopher,” Peter says with a smirk. “I think so too.”

“Get out of my head,” Chris growls, brandishing the harpoon.

“Throw me over the side, and you’ll never have to worry about that again. Or,” Peter says with a smile, showing off teeth that were rather more pointed than teeth have a right to be, “I could show you what I can really do.”

Chris is torn.  On one hand, he just wants to get his catch and head back to shore.  On the other hand, he’s got a real live mermaid here.

Peter starts humming as Chris deliberates, and suddenly the fisherman finds himself drifting closer, falling to his knees beside the merman. As his lips touch Peter’s, he feels his whole body light up with pleasure.

Peter’s hands slide down, tugging the waistband of Chris’ pants, and the merman curls a hand around Chris cock.  It’s already stiffening, and Peter seems to know exactly what to do to, exactly how Chris likes it. 

Peter, in turn, moves Chris’ hand down lower, to curl around the dick that’s now poking through a sheath, and Chris has no idea how that’s possible, but he doesn’t really care, because the feedback of pleasure between the both of them is more intense than anything he’s ever felt before.

Before too long, he’s close to his edge, and then Peter abruptly draws his hand away.  Chris groans low, but the merman is only repositioning them, wrapping his hand around both cocks as they slide together, and it’s too much for Chris. He cries out against Peter’s lips as he comes, and he can feel the hot seed of the merman spilling at the same time.

Chris rolls to his back, chest heaving for breath, drifting on a haze of post-orgasmic bliss as he comes down from the most intense things he’s ever felt in his life.

At long last he catches his breath, and finally has the strength to turn his head, to tell Peter how amazing that was, but - the merman is no longer beside him.  Chris hears the tiniest of splashes, and manages to push himself up. He rushes over to the side of the boat just in time to see Peter’s tail fin slid under the water.

He slumps back to the deck, and sits there for far too long, just trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Finally, Chris gets himself together and starts to haul up his nets.

By the time he gets back to shore, the fisherman has convinced himself that it was all a dream.


	55. Imperfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruined Proposal AU

“You’re absolutely certain?” Peter demands over the phone, for the third time. “Everything has to be perfect. Repeat the order back to me.”

There’s a brief pause - where Peter is sure the guy is rolling his eyes -  but he dutifully reads Peter’s list of arrangements back to him.

“Alright, yes,” Peter says when the maitre d’. “Also, make certain it’s Chef Martin, her  _Tartiflette_  is better than Stilinski’s. Oh and the wine must be a   _Domaine Ramonet Montrachet Grand Cru_ …”  Peter paces a moment. “And the orchestra is set?” He nods after listening to the maitre d’. “Excellent, be sure to clear the place by eight, I want the whole restaurant to ourselves.”

Chris’ truck pulls up and Peter hurriedly ends the call, runs his thumb over the velvet box in his pocket, and then resumes his dinner preparations, focused on perfectly slicing as Chris wanders through the door.

“Something smells good,” he says as he opens the fridge and grabs a beer.

“Dinner,” Peter replies succinctly, carefully measuring ingredients for the sauce. “Staying in tonight, going out tomorrow.”

Chris shrugs and swigs. “Fine by me.” He leans against the counter as Peter bustles around the kitchen, and watches, eyes softening at the near contentment radiating from the other man.  

His heart swells, and he’s overcome a moment. “Marry me,” he blurts out.

Peter freezes, back to Chris, then slowly turns on his heel, blue eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?”

Chris half-shrugs and takes another drink of his beer. “Marry me.”

“You son of a bitch,” Peter growls, grabbing the knife from the counter and advancing on the other man.

Chris arches a brow. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

Instead of stabbing him, Peter stops a few steps away, pulls something out of his pocket and whips it at Chris’ head, before flicking the knife down.  Chris catches the small object, the eyes the knife wobbling between his feet, point firmly in the kitchen floor.

With a narrowed glance to where Peter’s disappeared, Chris slowly opens the box, shaking his head at the contents. He follows Peter into the bedroom, where Peter is throwing pillows around the room.

Ducking one such projectile, Chris manages to catch Peter in his arms and kiss him soundly. “I take it you had something planned,” Chris says, grinning down at Peter.

“If by planned, you mean renting out an entire restaurant, having a meal made just for us by a five star chef, and ordering a two thousand dollar bottle of wine, then yes, Christopher, I had a plan.” Peter growls.

“I’m more of a on-impulse sort of guy,” Chris says, walking Peter backwards towards the bed.

“So I noticed,” Peter replies dryly, then gasps in surprise as Chris shoves him down onto the bed.

“Impulse,” shrugs Chris, and then tears Peter’s shirt right down the center before his hands go to the younger man’s belt.

“Ah, well, I suppose,” Peter gasps as Chris’ hand slides into his pants and starts rubbing. “I can live with impulsive.  Sometimes.”

Chris chuckles darkly, and then proceeds to make Peter forget all about his disappointment.


	56. You've Got Mail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “my neighbour keeps ordering weird shit but they dont want to face the mailperson’s judgement so they keep using my address instead”
> 
> Tags: Rape/Non-Con, Sex Toys, Bondage
> 
> Note: Apartment Verse

“Goddammit,” Chris mutters under his breath as he shuts the door behind him, ignoring the knowing face of the delivery person. “Not fucking again.”

He glowers at the box  _clearly marked_  with the name of a famous sex toy website, with Peter Hale’s name above Chris’ address in the center of it. 

This is the third time this has happened, and Chris knows Peter has to be doing this on purpose.  He tosses the box, unopened, on top of the others in the corner of his dining room.

Fluffy looks up from dinner and yips at the boxes before shooting Chris a baleful look.

“Yeah, I know,” Chris responds, “I’m really going to have to do something about those.”

It’s later that week, after he’s polished off a bottle of whiskey that the boxes catch his eye and he makes the impulsive decision to open them.  They were sent to his address, he’s got the right to see what’s inside, he figures.

The most recent package holds a large sparkly blue dildo and a rather large container of flavored lube. The others have got restraints, a gag, and a blindfold.

Chris spreads the items out on his dining room table and muses. Finally, he makes a decision, throws everything in his duffle, and grabs his keys.

Chris lets himself into Peter’s apartment with practiced ease, carefully quiet even though he knows all too well how deeply Peter sleeps.

Chris watches Peter sleep a moment, the younger man sprawled out on his stomach peacefully, and then he sets to work. First comes the blindfold, and then quickly Peter’s wrists are pulled up and affixed to the headboard.  He starts to shift when Chris moves his legs, but the gag is slid into place before Peter can make a sounds. 

Eventually, Peter is trussed up on his hands and knees, gagged and blindfolded. He’s awake now, squirming and grunting out what surely are demands, but Chris ignores him in favor of grabbing handfuls of the other man’s pajamas and ripping them free.

He runs his hands over Peter once the man is fully nude, just explores silently, gentle touches drifting across sensitive areas. Then Chris takes a step back and reaches for that bottle, gets a couple fingers slicked up before returning to Peter’s side.

Chris teases one of those fingers along Peter’s exposed hole, dragging the slick across the tight pucker a few times before eventually pushing just a tiny ways in.  Peter is making noises into his gag, but they don’t sound like protests any more.

Chris takes his time opening Peter up, until he can fuck the younger man with two slippery fingers easily.  Only then does he withdraw to lube up his cock, which has been hard for a while now.  

Chris settles to his knees on the bed behind Peter, gently sliding the head of his dick along the fluttering hole before dipping it just a little way in. He teases Peter this ways for a while before he pushes in fully, slowly and inexorably filling Peter.  

Once his hips are resting against the soft curve of Peter’s ass, Chris drapes himself over the other man, lets one hands lift to pluck and tugs at Peter’s nipples, while the other slides down to wrap around Peter’s dick, easily bringing him to full hardness with his ministrations.

Chris starts to thrust now, keeping his stroking of Peter’s cock in the same rhythm, bringing Peter right to the edge before pulling his hands away. Peter actually whimpers at that, and Chris grins wolfishly as his hands wrap around Peters hips, and he fucks into the bound man hard, chasing his orgasm.

In just a few short thrusts, Chris is coming, grunting as he fills Peter and then a soft gasps as he shudders through his aftershocks. As Chris pulls out, he fills that hole with the dildo, and leaves Peter there like that a moment, reaching for his phone.

He snaps a few pictures for later perusal, and then Chris takes pity on Peter, takes the younger man into his hand once more, using the other to fuck the dildo in and out of him.  Peter comes with a shout, strangled by the gag, spilling onto the bed beneath him.

Chris slides the dildo fully inside Peter once more, swiftly unlocks one of the cuffs, and leaves him there like that, while Chris heads home for a shower and a nap.


	57. Back in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Time Traveller AU

The first time Peter meets Chris Argent, it’s in the middle of the forest. 

Peter’s confused because he went to sleep in his cozy bed at home, and woke up in the middle of the cold, dark woods. Not the greatest way to start out his sixteenth birthday.

His nose tells him that these are his woods, the Hale woods…sort of. He’s just heading towards the house when the old man bursts through the trees, waving a huge shotgun, sees Peter and freezes.

His eyes are this incredible crystalline blue, wide with shock as he stares at the teenaged werewolf. 

“Peter….” he whispers, one rough, calloused hands scrubbing over his almost fully gray hair.

“How do you know my name?” the young man demands.

“It’s Chris,” he insistst as he takes a halting step forward. “Chris Argent. Peter, it’s been so long…” The man - hunter, Peter nose now tells him - shuffles forward and throws his arms around the wolf. Peter flinches away, but the old man is strong, and then suddenly, Peter’s holding the full weight as the man collapses.

“Uh, Chris, was it?” Peter says in confusion as he finds himself sitting on the ground, the human in his arms.

“At long last,” Chris says, “You’ve finally come back to me.”

Peter watches the light go out of those intense eyes, finds tears pricking his own, even though he has no idea who this man is. He buries the old man right there in the little clearing, marks the grave with a simple stone he drags up from the creek.

“I hope you’re at peace now, Christopher.”

When he sees Argent again, Peter is older, and Chris… Chris is younger. He’s a salt and pepper now, with a beard. Peter finds he rather likes it.

Chris looks up from fiddling with his motorcycle, and his eyes go wide. They flick for a moment up the the house behind him. Peter can hear the sounds of laughter coming from inside.

“Hello, Christopher,” he says with a bit of a smirk.

“How long?” Chris says, like he knows something about Peter’s Travelling. Peter furrows a brow and thinks. 

“At least a day,” he says. It feels like the right answer, even though he has no idea where he’ll go or how long he’ll stay there. It’s been a confusing few years.

Chris nods, looks at the house one more time, and then climbs on the bike. “Hop on, Peter,” he says, and they head off down the road. Peter’s never been on a motorcycle before. He finds he rather likes it.

He learns a few more things he likes that day after Chris takes him to a motel.

They’re curled up together sleeping, legs and arms intertwined when Peter feels the tug on his soul.

“Christopher,” he whispers, but the older man doesn’t wake up before Peter fades from view.

Chris Argent wakes up alone, gets back on his bike, and goes back to his family.

-

Peter’s much more in control of himself now, he knows how to tell exactly how long he’ll be somewhen, and every now and then, he can nudge it.

He’s a little older than Chris now, hands ruffling through the blonde’s hair as he gives the lonely young man his first kiss.

“You are my forever love,” he murmurs over and over to Chris for the three days they spend together, hidden away in one of the Argent family cabins deep in to the woods. Chris promises to wait for him always.

-

Peter’s war is almost over, he’s hunted down his family’s enemies through time and killed them one by one. He’s bitter and old, scarred and broken when he comes to Chris for the last time.

The teenager is afraid, voice wobbling as he threatens Peter with his father’s rifle.

Peter leads him to the clearing where he will someday (has already) be buried, and asks Chris Argent for one last favor.

The youth makes the promise, though he’s not sure why, and he sits with Peter until the dawn, listens to the tall tales the old man spins, and holds his hand. When Peter closes his eyes, Chris buries him there, cuts a couple tree branches to makes a cross to mark the lonely grave.

“Be at peace, Peter Hale,” he says softly, before turning away and slipping silently through the woods.


	58. New Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apartment Verse

“You’re quite welcome Mrs. Martin,” Chris says as he walks out her front door, nodding once at her waved goodbye, completely missing the once over she gives his backside.

Chris’ attention is taken by Peter, who’s at the end of the hallway, staring out the window. Chris slips slowly up behind him, pressing his body against the younger man’s, and grinding ever so slightly against that perfect ass of his.

“What’s got your attention, Peter?” Chris murmurs in his ear, peering over the (slightly) shorter mans’ shoulder. “Oh… Well.  I can see why.”

Below them on the street is a man in a short-sleeve police uniform, lifting boxes from a moving truck.  They both watch the muscles of his arms in silence as Chris continues to grind himself against Peter.

“Imagine if he looked up and saw us here,” Chris whispers.

Peter doesn’t make a sound, but he presses back ever so slightly into Chris.  With a chuckle, the older man continues.

“What would he think about you just standing there watching him, Peter?” Chris slides a hand around and presses his palm against Peter’s zipper. “Would he know what a slut you are? Because you would, wouldn’t you Peter? You’d be a whore for him, do anything he wanted you to.”

Chris smirks as he feels Peter’s cock twitch beneath the constraint of the denim fabric. “Oh, you like that don’t you? Like the idea of those strong arms holding you down, taking what he wants from you.”

Chris shifts and starts grinding his palm down, pressing his own hardening cock against Peter from behind. “Or maybe he’d put you on your knees. maybe he’d make you beg for him to touch you.  I wonder how long he’d just sit there watching you grovel.”

Chris keeps stroking along the hard line of Peter’s dick under his jeans, and whispering his filth into Peter’s ear.

“Imagine it Peter. Yourself begging for that thick cock in your mouth, pleading to choke yourself on it.  And then him just laying back and watching you fuck yourself on it. Imagine his voice, Peter, telling you to work harder, telling you how slutty you look. And then that deep voice ordering you to come.” 

Chris grinds his hand into Peter harder and faster. “Come for him, Peter.  Just like he tells you to.   _Come_ , Peter.”

Peter shudders in his grasp, biting his lip hard so that he doesn’t cry out, instead making this little whimper as he comes in his pants.

“That’s a good boy, Peter,” Chris murmurs as the younger man sags back against him.

“Y’know,” Comes a deep voice from behind them. “That  _can_ be arranged.”


	59. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apartment Verse

Peter frowns at his phone for the third time, at the text message that simply says ‘ROOF, 8’.

He glances at the clock - again.  Seven thirty.

Peter leans back into his couch with a sigh, and wonders what Chris is planning. He imagines a blanket spread out, and Chris fucking him under the stars.  He shifts in his seat as his cock stiffens and he glances at the clock again.  Seven thirty-five.

With a furtive glance towards the bedroom, Peter decides  - he’s got a little time for self-indulgence. He strips as he goes, stretching himself out across the bedspread, letting it be the blanket in his fantasy as he imagines Chris above him.  Peter curls a hand around himself as he thinks about being open to any gaze out there, exposed to all while Chris claims his body.

He’s quick and efficient with the movement of his hand while he fantasizes, seeing Chris’ strong arms wrapped around him, lips crashing down onto his as they move together.

Peter fumbles for the lube on the side table and quickly slicks up two fingers and impatiently presses them inside himself.  They’re not what he wants, but they’ll do for now.  In his imaginings, they become Chris’ cock, hitting that sweet spot every time while he fucks Peter out in the wide open.

The fantasy does the trick, soon Peter’s coming, spilling hotly over his fingers, breathing out Chris’ name as he shudders through his finish.

With a final deep breath, Peter glances at the clock again - a minute after eight. With a muttered curse, Peter grabs a towel to wipe his hands off, and then hurries to tug his clothes back on, before scrambling from his apartment.

He frets in the elevator, pacing back and forth and cursing its slowness.  He hopes Chris will wait.

Peter is ten minutes late to the assignation by the time he gets to the top floor, and hurries up the last flight of stairs. He’s breathless by the time he pushes through the rooftop door, already apologizing. “Christopher, I’m - ”

And then he cuts off, stops dead in his track, and  _stares_.

Peter finds himself standing on an actual red carpet.  Walking along it, he finds it leads him to an elegantly set table, candles blazing brightly.

Chris rises from where he had been seated, waiting, and Peter lets his gaze travel slowly across the older man’s body, to take this vision wholly in.

Chris is in a  _very_ nice suit - designer, a far cry from his usual beat-up jeans and flannel. He smiles as he walks toward Peter and hands the younger man a glass of wine.

“Happy Birthday, Peter.”

Peter arches a brow. “My birthday isn’t until next week.”

“Surprise,” Chris counters with a chuckle and then reaches for Peter’s free hand. He leads Peter the to place set for him at the table, and then pulls the cover off Peter’s dish with a flourish.

Peter laughs aloud as he sees the bounty before him, not the dinner he was expecting, but an artistic arrangement of his favorite pastries.

“Very nice, Christopher,” he acknowledges with a grin.

Chris winks and lifts his phone, pressing a few buttons and then setting it down on the table.  He turns and arches a challenging brow, extending his hand toward Peter. “May I have this dance?”

Peter chuckles and settles his hand in the older man’s, sliding into Chris’ arms. Peter rests his cheek against Chris’ shoulder, closes his eyes and drinks in the moment, before turning to look up at Christopher and pressing a soft kiss to the other man’s lips.

“Thank you, Christopher.”


	60. The Russians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Peter's a former mob enforcer and Chris is a former soldier with PTSD

Chris sits bolt upright in bed, the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears. For six heart-pounding seconds, he’s back in the desert.

Another burst of silenced gunfire snaps him out of the nightmare, and he’s on his feet, gun in hand, before he draws his next breath.  Chris follows the sounds down the hall, up the stairs - and right to Peter’s door.

Somehow, he’d known all along.

Chris kicks in the door, firearm at the ready - only to see Peter standing over a sprawled out gunman, a pool of blood spreading out beneath him.

“Christopher?” Peter asks incredulously.

Chris blinks, then sighs and flicks the safety on, tucks his gun away, and pulls the door shut behind him. “I’m familiar with the sound of a silencer, Peter.” He looks over and then paces around the body. “Peter…” He looks up with eyes narrowed. “How did you piss off the Russians?”

Peter shrugs  _far_ too nonchalantly, then sets his weapon on the side table.  He picks up his cell, very carefully not meeting Chris’ eyes. Chris arches a brow as Peter dials and begins speaking in Russian. He’s obviously irritated, and Chris wishes he spoke the language.

Peter hangs up and tosses the phone to the couch, turns to Chris. “Thank you for your concern, Christopher. I’ve got it from here.”

Chris looks from Peter, to the corpse, to the blood everywhere. “You do, huh?”

“Goodnight, Christopher.”

-

It’s two days before Chris succumbs to his curiosity and lets himself into Peter’s apartment when he knows the other man will be out.

It’s empty.

Every last stick of furniture is gone, and the place is the cleanest it’s ever been in its life. A faint scent of bleach hangs in the air, and Chris can’t help but chuckle.

“I guess you did have it handled,” he tells the empty room.

The fluttering edge of a piece of paper on the windowsill catches his eye, and he steps closer, plucking it from its perch. 

“Eight dash one,” he reads aloud, and frowns in thought.

Chris thinks it just might be some sort of clue from Peter as to where he’s gone - the paper is way too obvious in such an otherwise thoroughly cleaned out room.

He just has no idea what it’s supposed to mean.

There’s no eighth floor for it to be a room number. There’s no room eight on the first floor for it to be a reversal. Chris thinks maybe Peter means the roof, so he heads to the elevator. He gets off the the top floor in order to head  up the stairs to the roof, walking past the Penthouse door.

And then stops in his tracks.

Through the door, he hears the strains of a very familiar song. He’s no aficionado, but Chris is pretty sure it’s the classical piece that Peter’s always playing. 

Chris knocks on the door, figuring if he’s wrong, he can always make some sort of excuse about something needing to be fixed.

The last thing he’s prepared for is the lanky blonde that answers the door wearing nothing but a pair of blue silk boxers.

“Uh,” he says, thrown, “Sorry, must have the wrong place.”

The blonde just arches his brow and gives Chris the once-over.

“Christopher!”

Peter’s voice echoes out from the seventh floor penthouse. The boy at the door takes a step back and runs a hand through his curls, going from insolent to innocent and wide-eyed in that half-second.

Chris is charmed - and intrigued - in spite of himself.

“Come in, come in,” Peter beckons as Chris moves past the boy.  “This is Isaac, my new bodyguard.”

“He seems to be doing an excellent job,” Chris observes dryly as he notes how very little Peter is wearing.

“Aw, Christopher, are you  _jealous_?” Peter smirks as Isaac shadows the newcomer, and then he snaps his fingers.  Isaac immediately drops to his knees and crawls over to Peter, leaning that cherubic head against Peter’s bare thigh.

“Don’t worry,” Peter murmurs, a glint in his blue eyes, “I’m very good at sharing.”


	61. Darkness and Torment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Chris kidnaps a human Peter and does awful things to him
> 
> Tags: Rape/Non-Con, Bondage, Torture, Sex Toys, Somnophilia, BDSM, probably more that I'm forgetting

Peter Hale wakes to complete and total darkness.  And silence.  He can’t hear anything, he can’t see anything, and - and he can’t move.  There’s a brief moment of disoriented panic, and then his brain kicks in, and he can feel the hood against his face, can feel the bindings wrapped around him. 

It’s so all-encompassing that for a minute he doesn’t even feel it - and then he does.  There’s an insistent buzzing, a constant vibration deep inside him, snuggled right up to a certain bundle of nerves.  And now that he’s calmed down, it begins to have its effect. 

As soon as his dick twitches, the vibrator is removed slowly, and then ever so gently pushed back in.  It fucks in and out of him with maddening deliberation, and he’s gone straight from being terrified right to demanding irritation.  He tries to shift, to push himself down, anything to make it stop - or to demand more.

His movements do have an effect of some sort, because the buzzing increases, and the little device is pushed all the way in, pressed against his prostate, and then he feels the cold, harsh bite of metal clamping down on his nipples.  He arches and lets out a wordless noise into the gag - of course he’s gagged - which has no effect on his merciless torturer.  The clamps are slowly twisted and tugged, until Peter’s nipples feel like they must be huge and an angry red. 

It seems to have pleased his tormentor, because the clamps are removed, and Peter can feel lips closing around the left side, and then the sting of teeth worrying at the tender peak. The other nipple is subjected to the same treatment, and then two sets of cruel fingers take their turns plucking at them.

Just when he doesn’t think he can take anymore, Peter feels a hot mouth descend over his neglected cock and suddenly he’s buzzing with heat from  _everywhere_.  Between the continued assault on his nipples and the constant stimulation inside - plus the expert blow job - Peter’s ready to come in minutes.

He sobs against the hood as everything withdraws at once and he’s left on the precipice with no relief.  Peter feels his legs being shifted and a the table he’s lying on tilts slightly.  He feels a body between his thighs, the warmth of that skin against his, and then a blunt pressure against the fluttering muscle of his hole.  Peter cries out as the thick cock spears into him mercilessly, unerringly sliding right into his throbbing prostate and increasing the pressure for release.

His captor hammers into him relentlessly, thrusting deep into him over and over, and then those hands finds Peter’s chest again, alternating slapping and tugging, and then one hand withdraws, and Peter feels the strike right across his achingly hard cock.  It’s the final straw and he arches against his bonds with the force of his orgasm, gasping for breath as the hot strands of his seed spill over his own stomach.

Almost simultaneously, Peter feels the pulse of his tormentor coming deep inside him, and he shivers as the man keeps thrusting through his own - and Peter’s - aftershocks. The man is still joined with him when Peter feels the bite of a needle in his arm. He feels those cruel hands roaming along his body as he fades back into unconsciousness.


	62. Hospital Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'both of our children are sick in the hospital and we meet nightly at the coffee machine au'
> 
> Tags: Angst, Angry Sex, Hate Sex

Chris nods once to greet the guy that he's seen around the children's wing a few times, and then passes him without another thought, intent on getting himself a coffee. He's so damn tired of this place, but he can't leave Ally unguarded. You never know what might end up coming for a hunter's kid when they're vulnerable. So Chris drinks cup after cup, trusting only himself to watch over his daughter. He only leaves for this quick moment to go to the machine, and he takes precautions. There's a line of salt and mountain ash all around her room, and he's memorized the nurses rounds. No one should go into that room while he's gone.

As Chris pushes the button for the coffee machine, he curses his father, and not for the first time. When Victoria had gotten killed in a hunting accident, his father had come to help them burn the body, and then taken a shell-shocked Chris and a two-year old Allison home with him. Kate had become her surrogate mother, and Ally had taken to the hunting life with gusto. He sometimes wondered what she'd be like if Victoria had survived. They'd talked about trying to raise her away from hunting a few times when there had been close calls.

Of course, that wasn't his decision. It was the matriarch's. And that is now Kate. His sister was too far under Gerard's thumb, Chris privately thought. She shouldn't be beholden to any of the male soldiers. That made for stupid mistakes and unnecessary accidents. Like the one that had broken both Ally's legs and landed her here. She hadn't cleared all of her gymnastic stunts yet and they had her jumping out of trees with a weapon in her hand, dammit.

Chris hits the machine with the palm of his hand in frustration.

“Well, that'll make it work better,” comes a sardonic voice from behind him, and Chris turns to see the other floor dad – as he thinks of the guy – leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Chris affects a tight smile and curses himself now, for dull instincts that let someone sneak up on him, then turns and quickly orders the coffee he wants.

“Don't know how you drink that swill,” the guy observes.

“Used to it,” Chris shrugs and takes his cup and heads back to Ally's room, not even bothering with a goodbye.

-

Peter arches a brow and watches the other man walk away. _Rude_ , he thinks, and then continues on his way out the door.

No hospital sludge for him, no, Peter Hale doesn't settle for anything but the best. He takes himself to the gourmet coffee shop down the street, orders something ridiculously complicated just to see if he can fluster the barista, grabs himself a pastry, and a cocoa and cookie for Malia. He takes his time about wandering back. Malia is in good hands, got the best doctors money can buy, and even though she's got multiple broken bones from the crash, they tell him she'll heal.

Not that he's not still upset with Talia – she could have bitten his daughter and everything would have healed – but he understands why she didn't. There's a possibility that she'd become a coyote instead of a wolf, and then she'd be packless and alone. He'd lose her of course, she could not be a Hale anymore, but at least she'd still be alive. If her injuries would have been life-threatening, Peter would have fought his sister much harder, however the doctors said she'd live. Malia's mother, not so much. As soon as his daughter was healed, Peter intended to track that woman down and rip out her throat. He'd smelled her at the site of the accident. Peter knows it was her who caused it, killing Malia's best friend and her mother on their way to a sleepover, and he's not going to let her get away with it.

He takes a deep breath, feeling his wolf rise to the surface, and he knows his blue eyes have to be getting a bit luminescent. He's not too rational when it comes to his baby girl.

Neither is the guy from the hallway either, it seems.

Peter can hear his voice as he comes in, just letting the nurse have it. Apparently someone had gone into his daughter's room while he wasn't there.

Peter sighs, weighs the options, then sets his food down and heads over. “Hey, settle down there,” and he claps a very firm hand on the man's shoulder. Malia needs her rest, not a deranged dad screaming at the poor nursing staff.

But he's not expecting the reactions of the guy. In one fluid motion, he shrugs Peter's hand off his shoulder, twists the surprised wolf's arm up behind his back, and he feels the pinprick of a knife in the small of his back. “Do not _touch_ me,” the deep voice hisses and oh – oh, Peter's _impressed_. And maybe a little bit turned on.

“My very ill daughter is trying to sleep, _asshole_ ,” Peter snarls any way, “Stop screaming at poor Melissa.”

To his credit the guy backs off immediately, and the knife is gone, vanished up a sleeve or whatever like it never existed, and runs a hand through his short military style haircut. “I'm sorry, Melissa,” he says, “I just can't have anyone in the room while I'm not there.”

“I keep telling you,” she says acerbically, not intimidated in the least, “No one went in that room.” She's got her hands on her hips, dark eyes sparking with anger, and if Peter hadn't just been pinned by the other man, he might have spent some time talking her into the storage closet. “Next time you cause a scene, you're going to have to deal with security.”

Peter admires her as she walks away, then turns to the man, who's staring at his daughter's door in frustration. He frowns and stomps over to it and walks right to her side, crystal blue eyes searching all the machines and her face for any new injury, any new things that might have happened to her.

Peter starts to wander in after him, to commiserate, to talk – to convince him to join Peter in an empty hospital bed – but he finds himself unable to pass the doorway. He slowly looks down and sees a familiar sparkling black substance lining the inside of the doorway.

Peter takes an instinctive step backwards, then another, hands curling into fists to keep his claws hidden.

 _Hunter_.

-

Chris is dozing in his chair when his sister and four of his father's men show up two hours later.

“Chris,” she says gently. “Big brother, go home.”

He rises and shakes his head. “I can't leave her.”

“We've got this,” she says firmly, “You're no good to her with dulled reflexes.”

Chris sets his jaw and starts to argue.

“That's an order, Christopher,” she says in her matriarch voice, and Chris' eyes flash – but he's a good soldier and so he silently leans down and kisses Ally's forehead, then stalks out without saying another word to her.

He's in a hurry to get out of there, his temper boiling perilously close to the surface as he silently rails against his family, and he doesn't even see the obnoxious guy until he's accosted, finds himself slammed into the side of the hospital building, brick pressing painfully into his back.

“What the hell are you doing here, _hunter_ ,” the guy sneers, eyes flashing blue, “This is Hale pack territory. We take care of our own problems.”

It's only then that Chris' brain kicks in and he recognizes the guy.

“Peter Hale,” he says flatly, electric prod appearing from his sleeve and jabbing into Peter's gut. “I said don’t' touch me.”

Peter grunts as he doubles over. “I see my reputation has preceded me.”

“Talia Hale's playboy brother,” Chris snorts, “rumored to have been studying to be a druid before a near fatal drowning when he was bitten. Useless and indulged, got kicked out of university after sleeping with all his professors, the dean of his college, and the university president.”

Peter looks affronted. “I am far from useless, hunter. I'm _very_ good at what I do.”

“Argent,” Chris says, chin lifting in pride. “I'm an Argent. Chris. Argent.”

Peter's eyebrow lofts. “Well, well, we do have royalty deigning to visit us. Welcome Prince Christopher, to our humble town.”

Chris sets his jaw and lifts the wand again.  
Peter surprises him by stepping forward, into his reach. “I've never fucked a hunter before,” he says, “much less a prince of hunters.”

Chris grabs a fistful of Peter's shirt and switches their places, pins the amused wolf against the wall. “Now, listen, you arrogant – ” and he's got a whole stream of invective ready, right, but out of nowhere, Peter's mouth is surging up to meet his, and that mouth should not be legal okay, because it's sinfully soft and opens up under Chris like a flower to the sun, and Chris doesn't even know how it happens, but he's delving into Peter's mouth, exploring it with his tongue, claiming ownership. His body presses up against Peter, and he can feel how hard Peter is as he grinds his hips against the other man's, and Peter is leading them somewhere, but Chris doesn't even care because all he can think about right now is pinning this man down and fucking him hard.

They're in some sort of closet before Chris even knows it, and the only time he even pauses in kissing Peter is when the wolf presses a little packet of lube into his hand, and he has to stop and laugh.

“Really?! You just happen to have this lying around?”

Peter smirks up at him. “I like to be prepared.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chris growls and shoves Peter down onto the floor that has been covered by strewn hospital gowns at some point, and Peter is so fucking _tight_ when he gets a finger inside, and the velvet heat is making him go out of his mind. He can barely wait as he gets two fingers into Peter, roughly and quickly opening him up. And it's not enough, not really, but Peter doesn't mind the burning stretch, even likes it a bit, and the way that Chris just _pushes_ into him. And the hunter fucks hard and fast, it's it's perfect, exactly what Peter likes and he's digging claw marks into the floor because it's _amazing_. Chris' left hand is curled around Peter's cock, slick with the rest of the lube, sliding and pulling in time to his thrusts.

The hunter curls his hand around the crook of Peter's neck, and his thumb rests on the pulse at the base of the werewolf's neck, and it's the implied threat that sets Peter's off, that has his coming way too soon for his pride, but that sets Chris off and Peter can feel the hunter's cock pulsing inside him.

They cling together for a moment, and then Chris pulls himself away, and Peter winces a little, then lays back and takes a few deep breaths as Chris wipes himself clean with a discarded gown and then tucks his dick away in his pants. Peter looks up at him, and he looks like he's going to say something a couple times, but Chris just turns and walks out of the closet.

Peter snorts and sighs, picks himself up and cleans himself off, and then goes to arrange to move his daughter to a different hospital.

 


	63. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'Your dog impregnated my dog and now I have a load full of puppies, I dare you to take half of them bc they’re your responsibility too AU'
> 
> Tags: Somnophilia, Implied BDSM
> 
> Note: Apartment Verse

“Christopher,” Peter's voice sounds strangled over the phone. “Can you come up here?”

Chris frowns. He knows Peter's apartment is in good shape, he's checked around while Peter's (overweight, constantly yapping, basically obnoxious) dog Francesca ate her meal.

“On my way,” he replies, then hangs up and frowns at Fluffy, who's gloomily perched in the windowsill as he has been wont to do for a week or so now. “I wonder what's that's all about.”

In case there is some sort of maintenance problem, Chris grabs his toolbox and attaches his set of keys to his belt. He makes his way to Peter's apartment, and lifts his hand to knock at the door, then pauses halfway. He hears something like whimpering coming from the other side. It sounds like Peter is in pain.

Without a further thought, Chris tugs his keys from his belt and uses the master to open Peter's door. He's two steps inside, looking around frantically before his mind registers what he's seeing.

Peter is leaning over a circle of baby gate looking things, and there's four puppies snuggled up to Francesca as he strokes her head.

“Ah, Christopher,” Peter remarks calmly. “I'd like you to meet your puppies.”

“My – ” Chris clears his throat and tries again. “My _what_?!”

Peter rises and crosses his arms over his chest. He arches a brow. “There's exactly _one_ dog that she's had contact with.”

Chris blinks once and then groans. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Peter snorts and heads to the kitchen. “These pups are your responsibility, too.” He begins to make coffee as Chris stares at the little ones, watches them blindly snuffle and whimper against their mother.

Chris and Peter sip their coffee in silence, just watching the new little ones a while.

“We can't split them up,” he offers after a moment.

“They will need a lot of tending, Christopher. Francesca can't do it all herself. And I do have a job you know.”

“Hm,” Chris says noncommittally and watches the babies fall asleep one by one. Peter silently collects the used coffee cups and loads them into the dishwasher.

“I could crash on the couch for a few nights. Y'know, just to help out,” Chris offers casually.

Peter hides his smirk and pretends he's considering it. “I suppose for a night or two.”

Chris rises and stretches. “I'll grab some things.”

-

He comes back an hour later with two suitcases and Fluffy in tow.

“I didn't know if it was alright for him to be here?” he asks awkwardly.

Peter nods. “Keep him on the other side of the gate until we're sure how he'll react to them.”

Chris agrees and settles his things near the couch. Peter grabs him some blankets.

“I'll check on them in a couple hours,” he tells Chris, “I'm thinking every two hours rotating, and we should be able to get some decent blocks of sleep.”

Chris nods absently as he watches Fluffy sniff around the cage, and then digs for a pair of pajama pants, before heading into the bathroom.

Peter sets the dishwasher to run, makes sure Francesca has everything she needs, and gives Fluffy a warning glare. “You'd better watch yourself. This is all your fault.”

Fluffy doesn't look the least bit repentant as Chris clears his throat from behind Peter. “Threatening my dog?”

Peter turns to offer a witty rejoinder, but the words dry up in his throat as he sees Chris, just standing there with those pants slung low on his hips. He recovers quickly, makes the look exaggerated as he slowly moves his wolf-sharp gaze along Chris' body.

“Trying to seduce me, Christopher?”

“I'm only here for the dogs, Peter.” Chris pushes past him and spreads out a blanket, stretches himself out on his back on the couch, and now Peter can very clearly see that Chris has absolutely nothing on beneath the soft flannel. He grits his teeth and stalks towards his bedroom, pulling on his silk pajamas and flopping onto his bed.

Peter lays there for what seems like forever. He can't sleep, can't stop thinking about Chris out there. It's a relief when his alarm goes off, and he has an excuse to head out to the living room.

Everyone is asleep.

Fluffy has somehow found his way into the gated area, Peter has no idea how, but they are quiet and content, and so he turns his attention to Chris, and has to bite back a soft curse.

Chris has thrown his cover off in his sleep, and the thin pants do nothing to hide his assets. Peter glance back at the dogs, and then steps toward Chris. He silently reaches out and presses the lightest of touches to the thickness beneath the soft cloth, eyes never leaving Chris' face.

He sleeps through that touch and a few more, light snoring unchanged as Peter becomes more daring and gently lifts the waistband and tugs it down enough to reveal the hardening cock. He glances up at Chris once again, and then leans in, just running his tongue lightly along the thick length.

It's not until Peter wraps his lips around it that Chris begins to stir, freezing immediately as he registers what's happening, lets Peter get himself into a rhythm before he reaches down and curls his hand into Peter's hair, tugging him back with an arched eyebrow.

Peter licks his lips and then lifts his chin, not sorry in the least. Chris looks over to make sure that they haven't woken the pups, and then tucks himself away, rises while deftly keeping his hold on Peter's hair.

“Bedroom, now,” he mouths with a glare and then finally lets go his grip, staring Peter down as it look like he plans to argue. Peter thinks better of it, and turns on his heel, flouncing off like it had been his idea.

Chris reaches down and grabs his belt from the suitcase. Peter needs to learn he doesn't get anything without begging real nice and pretty for it.

 


	64. Under Arrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'Imagine your OTP getting arrested and they bicker the whole way through the process.'
> 
> Tags: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Double Penetration

“This is all your fault, you know,” Peter says conversationally as both boys lifts their hands to the air.

“ _My_ fault?!” Chris exclaims, “This was all _your_ idea!”

“No, Christopher, the _alcohol_ was my idea.” Peter argues. “Climbing to the to of the high school gym was _your_ idea.”

“Would you two shut up?” The Deputy sounds exasperated as he stalks around behind them and cuffs Chris, before leading him to the back of the police cruiser.

Chris ignores the demand from Deputy Stilinski. “I don't recall you complaining,” he says smugly over his shoulder before he ducks his head to get into the backseat.

“I'm complaining _now_ ,” Peter grumbles as Stilinski comes for him. “The indignities I suffer for you,” he mutters under his breath.”

“ _Really_ , Peter.” Chris snorts in derision as the other boy is deposited in the backseat next to him. “Pretty sure sure this is nothing compared to what you were doing with your mouth not too long ago.”

“You'll be lucky if that ever happens again after this,” Peter declares.

Chris' voice gets lower. “You _begged_ for that privilege, Peter Hale, don't forget that.” He slips his cuffs easily, and reaches over to lightly run his thumb along Peter's zipper.

“Can it,” the Sheriff grunts as he slides into the front seat and looks over their drivers licenses. “Last thing I was to listen to is you two idiots whine at each other the whole ride back to the station.” He complains about stupid college kids as he puts the car into gear.

“Yeah, Peter,” Chris breathes into the other boy's ear. “Don't make a sound.” His arm flexes as he slides his palm along the rapidly hardening cock beneath the rough denim.

Peter tries to be quiet, he really does, but Chris has unzipped his jeans, and his hands is inside, twisting just right, and Chris' free hand is slid u pinto Peter's shirt, gently pinching and rolling his nipples and he's just not good at keeping himself quiet.

Stilinski is enjoying the momentary silence when he hears the breathy moan Peter makes and glances into the rear-view mirror reflexively. What he sees the boys doing makes his dick take interest, and he swears under his breath and looks straight ahead. When he has control of himself again, he growls low. “Quit that. Get your hands off him.”

Chris leans in and sinks his teeth into Peter's arched neck, then lifts big, wide blue eyes to the Deputy. “Well, _sir_ , you're going to have to make me.”

Stilinski doesn't know if it's that insolent 'sir', or just the boys themselves, but he finds himself pulling the cruiser over into the Beacon Hills woods.

He slams the car into park and shoves out of the car, ripping open the back door intending to yank Chris out of the car, slam the boy against the hood of the cruiser and put the cuffs back on him.

But that's not what happens.

He reaches for Chris, but the quick little shit, shifts out of his reach, and then leans forward and wraps his lips around the Deputy's middle finger. Stilinski freezes in surprise, and then in discomfort, because now his cock is really taking notice. Chris Argent is giving his finger an excellent approximation of a blow job, and the Deputy's brain fuzzes out a second.

There's a pair of hands at his belt, and before he can even think, Peter's swallowing him down. He doesn't even know how Peter got out of his cuffs, but the boy is sucking him like a pro and the Deputy shakes his head in a futile effort to clear it.

It doesn't work, because all the blood has rushed south and all he can do is watch as Chris pulls back with a wink, and then moves out the other door, and around the cruiser to where Peter's kneeling in front of Stilinski.

“Look at what a cockslut he is, Deputy,” Chris says fondly as he pats Peter's backside. “Choke yourself on that fat cock, Peter,” Chris orders, and Stilinski groans aloud as the boy does just that. He doesn't even realize that he's closed his eyes until Chris starts talking again and he opens them, blinking a couple times before he register what the boy had said.

“Gun oil?” Stilinski furrows a brow in confusion. “Uhm.” He can't think. “Glovebox?” He cuts off as Peter moans around his dick and he can't help but reach down and curl his fingers into the boy's short hair, thrusting forward into that hot, welcoming mouth.

Chris returns with a triumphant grin and a small bottle. “Watch this, Deputy.” He tugs Peter's pants down around the curve of his ass, and pours the oil between the ass cheeks before rubbing it in. “He's still loose from before,” Chris murmurs as he slides three fingers in easily. Chris isn't stopping there though, he slowly works his other fingers in as Stilinski watches, his moans echoing Peter's as the boy expertly holds him on the edge.

“Look, Deputy,” Chris says, catching his attention away from Peter's mouth. Stilinski looks up to see Chris sliding his entire arm inside Peter, and that's it for him, he can't hold back any longer. He croaks out a warning, and shoves hard into Peter's mouth, taking deep, heavy breaths as he pumps his load down the boy's throat.

Stilinski collapses against the cruiser with a heavy sigh as Peter is tugged onto his side by the other boy. Chris starts pumping his fist in and out, making sure to slides against Peter's prostate. “He'll come from just this alone,” Chris says breathlessly before leaning down and growling out a stream of filth into Peter's ear. The Deputy only catches a few bits here and there, just enough to know that Chris has quite the inventive imagination.

He stops before the prone boy has a chance though, and the previously mouthy Peter just silently whimpers as Chris pulls back away. “I think he's ready to take both of us. You ready yet?”

Stilinski clears his throat, tries to take control of the situation. “Now listen boys,” he begins, but Chris interrupts him. “Peter, get your sloppy ass over there and beg the Deputy to fuck you.”

Stilinski trails off, even now unable to believe what is happening, and then suddenly, he's got a pair of glazed cerulean eyes looking up at him, sinful mouth pleading for the Deputy to do all manner of things to him, and in spite of himself, his traitorous dick is rising to the occasion.

Chris presses close, lets his hands roam along the Deputy's body as he's focused on Peter, wrapping one slick hand around the older man's cock and pumping it gently until he's hard as a rock and standing at attention.

“You first,” Chris offers and Stilinski finds himself kneeling behind and to the side of Peter, Chris' hand guiding him inside the stretched and puffy hole. And then Chris settles beside him, and starts slicking up his own cock, before pushing slowly, inexorably into Peter alongside him.

Stilinski has never felt anything like it. Another hard cock slide along his own, and Peter is still so fucking tight with both of them inside. Chris shows the older man how to shift the rhythm so they're working in tandem, and they start fucking into Peter.

“Harder, Deputy,” Chris gasps out. “He can take it.” He's so far gone now, Stilinski automatically does so, matching his thrusts with Chris' and they both feel it when Peter finally comes. It squeezes them both hard that it border on the edge of painful, but then the boy just collapses beneath them and now they just use his body, and somehow Chris has found Stilinski's mouth and kissing him thoroughly and expertly, and the Deputy feels the hot warmth of another orgasm creeping up on him, but it's Chris who comes first, painting the hot confines of Peter's inside white. The Deputy groans loudly as he feel the hot pulsing of Chris' cock beside him, and the boy takes a few breaths before turning his lips to Stilinski's ear, blunt teeth worrying at the older man's earlobe as he continues to thrust into Peter until finally that dam bursts and the Deputy is coming for the second time in a very short time. He staggers back as his softening dick slips out of Peter, and holds onto the still open backseat door for balance.

Stilinski watches blearily as Chris pulls Peter to his feet and tugs the boy's underwear and pants up. He hears Chris growl, “You better hold all that inside you until we get home,” and then he levers himself onto the seat to catch his breath, and closes his eyes a minute.

When he opens them, the boys are gone, but there's a piece of paper fluttering under his windshield wiper. Stilinski can see the phone number written on it from here. He sighs and lays back along the seat, already knowing that he's going to make that call.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unfortunately](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158576) by [Ginormic6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginormic6/pseuds/Ginormic6)




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